


30 days of Hobbit parings

by Madame_Xela



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Baby Dwarves, Bifur and Nori are not fond of each other, Bifur is overprotective, Bofur just wants a nice meal, Bofur needs to Stahp, Cultural Differences, Dialogue-Only, Domestic Fluff, Dwalin thinks he's taking advantage of Ori, Dwalin tries so hard, Family Drama, Fluff, Gen, Genderswap, Humor, Jealousy, Kind of dark Kíli, M/M, Mpreg, Nori likes theater, Ori is a romantic, Ori is the best, Original Character - Freeform, Post BotFA, Pre-Slash, Premature Birth, SO MUCH FLUFF, Sappy, Sibling Incest, Slash, Starvation, Thorin POV, Thorin shouldn't listen to Dain, Unrequited Love, Weddings, always a girl bilbo, for one chapter, it's really the other way around, mentions of death (minor), slight cultural differences, will add tags with each chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-05 18:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 23,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/726199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madame_Xela/pseuds/Madame_Xela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>30 day OTP challenge that's about more than one pairing because I couldn't choose one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Holding hands, Dori/OMC

**Author's Note:**

> I read this comic: http://papermachette.tumblr.com/post/41093604750 And the whole Dori and the Barman just stuck.
> 
> And it will forever be my headcannon that Ori called Dori Mama as a child.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or, in which Ori plays matchmaker.

It started with a ritual of sorts.

When Nori was around, and he stayed at the pub for longer than was necessary, Naran-the barman-would go outside and wait. Sure enough, at quarter past ten, Dori would come storming up to the pub. And oh, was he lovely! Naran spent as long as he could drinking up the sight he made. The angry flush on his cheeks; the long, warm coat that could almost be considered a dress; the bundle of furs strapped to his back that always contained a sleeping Ori (sometimes Ori wasn’t sleeping because Dori had been grumbling too loudly and Naran would tussle the boy’s hair as a greeting). Dori always looked angry and Naran would reach out and take his hands, rubbing soothing circles as he greeted the other dwarf and assured him that ‘yes, yer troublemaker is in the pub, would ye like me to kick him out or would ye rather drag him by his ears’ (Dori _always_ chose to drag his brother by the ears, apparently it was supposed to teach him a lesson). It filled him with a sense of self-fulfilled pride to watch as Dori visibly deflated and started blushing for an entirely different reason.

Of course, this only happened when Nori was in town.

They didn’t see each other when the ginger haired dwarf was off on a ‘job’. Naran didn’t seek out Mister Dori’s company because he wasn’t sure how he would be received, different social circles and all. Though, not seeing his prim dwarf made him moody and snappish towards everyone.

He was in the middle of viciously cleaning the tables when the doors to the pub opened. Odd, the pub didn’t open for three hours. It was probably his brother-in-law coming in to mop the floors.

“Ummm….Na’an?” A soft voice asked from behind him. Turning around, the older dwarf saw none other than baby Ori by…himself? That was weird. He was always with his elder brother.

The cloth he used to clean the table slipped out of his hands and dropped to the floor with a dull noise.

“What’s wrong lad? Where’s yer brother?” He asked, squatting to the dwarfling’s height.

Ori shook his head. “Home. Mama sad. Want smiles!” Despite the worry he felt, Naran grinned at the child. He would never get over the fact that Ori called his oldest brother ‘Mama’. It was so…cute.

“Well, he’s probably out lookin’ for ye right now. Why don’t we go see if we can find him.” Scooping the child up with one arm and handing over responsibilities to his brother-in-law, Naran and Ori ventured out to find Dori.

And really, that wasn’t a very hard quest. With Ori gone Dori was mad with worry and running around asking if anyone had seen his little brother. The duo could hear Dori’s calls long before they could even see him.

“Ori Dear, where are you!?” Oh, there he was.

“Mama!”

Said dwarf snapped his head in their direction. His brown hair (almost the same shade as his brothers’, but with less red; such a lovely color) was frizzed and his braids looser than the barman could ever remember seeing them.

The worried dwarf was at their side in seconds. He pulled Ori out of Naran’s arms and smothered him in hugs and kisses.

“Oh Ori I was so worried! Don’t you ever run off like that again do you understand me!” Naran chuckled. Honestly, he truly was more like the lad’s mother than his brother.

The noise seemed to snap Dori out of his ‘worried-mother-hen-mode’. He looked at the dark haired dwarf and smiled thankfully. “Mister Naran, Thank you for finding him! I turned around for a second and the next thing I knew he was gone!”

“Yer welcome.” There was an awkward silence, broken by little Ori who asked to be taken home.

“Yes we should be going. It’s almost time for dinner!”

“I’ll walk ye back, just in case the little ‘un tries to wander off again.” Dori smiled that lovely smile that made Naran’s insides flip and thanked the dark haired dwarf.

Walking the dwarfs home was a quiet affair. Not due to any awkwardness, but rather because the roads were unfamiliar and Naran was busy taking note of every twist and turn. Whether it was to look for danger or to memorize the way…well only Naran knew the answer to that.

Ori was having none of this. This was not how the plan was supposed to go! Mister Naran was supposed to find Dori, hold his hands and then he and Dori would get married so Ori could have his Mama Dori, Papa Naran, his big brother Nori, and maybe some little brothers/sisters (or would it be nieces/nephews?) to play with.

But none of that could happen if they didn’t hold hands!

Pouting, Ori wiggled in Dori’s arms. “Na’an!”

“What is it lad?”

Small, pudgy hands reached out to the older dwarf. “Hand!”

The confusion he felt must have shown on his face because Dori was chuckling and explaining to the dwarf that that meant Ori wanted to hold his hand. It was almost comical to see the size difference in their hands. Ori’s: tiny, and smooth. Naran’s: Large, thick and covered in callouses.

Using all the dexterity and grace a toddler his age possessed, Ori (somehow) managed to unhook one of Dori’s hands and clasp it together with Naran’s. Dori blushed, but when he tried to pull his hand apart, Ori very firmly told him ‘No, Mama!’ and held the intertwined hands to his chest. Naran offered the dwarf no help, opting to whistle a happy tune and rub soothing circles on the back of Dori’s hand. 

Ori was a brilliant little dwarrow.

A very brilliant, very devious little dwarrow.

And Naran couldn’t be more grateful.

When they reached the steps of the bothers’ home Dori invited him to join them for dinner ‘as a thank you and because I- _Ori_ is so fond of you’ _of_ _course_. Well, how could he refuse?


	2. Cuddling somewhere, Fíli/Kíli

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winters in Belegost get rather cold, so the boys keep themselves warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only reason there are two chapters today is because the first was supposed to be posted yesterday.

Winters in the Blue Mountains were harsh, as to be expected. Though Uncle and their parents refurbished one of the old buildings of Belegost into a sturdy home, it could not keep the cold out very well. Father said that it was not only because the city was old, but it was also underground and that made it naturally cooler. Until they could get the heating systems running again the dwarfs would have to make do with the special stoves and the multiple fireplaces.

By the time Fíli was sixty five and Kíli was sixty, they were still ‘making do’. After sixty five freezing winters Fíli and Kíli learned how to make it…bearable.

Once the frost hit, Kíli would move his furs and any spare firewood he had into his brother’s room, where he would stay for the rest of the winter months. At night they would put many slow burning logs into the stove and pile all of their furs onto Fíli’s bed, say their goodnights, and crawl in together.

They usually started off positioned side-by-side. Although if it was too cold when they went to sleep, Kíli would have his nose pressed into Fíli’s back. Waking up was another story altogether. During the night, they would curl around one another. Sometimes they would wake up and Fíli’s back would be flush against Kíli’s chest with one of his brother’s arms draped over his hip and the other coming out from under Fíli’s head and coming over it to tangle into his hair. Sometimes they would be chest-to-chest, their arms wrapped around each other and their legs an impossible twisted mass of limbs. Those days, they were quick to detangle from the uncomfortable positions and start their days.

Then there were the days where they would wake in a more comfortable position. Fíli would be on his back with Kíli draped on top of him. The dark haired dwarf would have his head tucked under the elder’s chin, one leg nestled between his brother’s and the other hooked with Fíli’s at the ankle. Fíli’s hands would be splayed on Kíli’s back: one on his lower back and the other between his shoulder blades (more often than not he would have dark hair weaved around his fingers). Kíli, always the one to wake first, would nuzzle his nose against his brother’s neck and the underside of his jaw. The rough, dare he say _ticklish_ sensation felt wonderful against his skin.

The blond would wake to content sighs and the feel of warm breath ghosting over his skin. Once awake, Fíli would trail his hands across his brother’s back. They would softly greet each other and talk in quiet tones; never moving from the warm furs save for the occasional shifting into a more comfortable spot. They would stay in this position until their mother would knock on the door to announce breakfast…only getting up after the third time she knocked and with the threat of sending in Dwalin over their heads. 


	3. Going to a performance, Bofur/Nori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur and Nori are obligated to go to every performance of their adventure and Nori likes it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...I don't even know

Half a decade after the retaking of Erebor, the theatrical renditions of their journey started gaining popularity.

Mainly because there had been enough restoration time and after six years, people could finally focus on other things. Thus several dwarfs and men got together to perform and all fourteen members of the company went to every single one of them.

Many were over glamourized, fictitious stories based on hearsay and the occasional retelling by the Company.

Then there was one co-written by the princes themselves. An action packed, over-exaggerated performance that was more crazy sword waving and insulting than it was accurate and comprehensible. Nori had spent the entire performance laughing. Bofur wished that they could have been somewhere else-even dinner with elves would have been preferable. The performance was _painful_. Still, he had to give the boys credit for trying.

The next performance, Bofur enjoyed much more. Ori’s rendition was far better than most of the others he had seen. Being the official scribe of the company, Ori was able to keep as close to the actual events as possible. There was character development (believable portrayals of the company, except poor Bilbo, no one ever seemed to get poor Bilbo right), conflict, action, suspense, and humor. The only thing Bofur (and many other members of the company) would complain about was the sheer amount of _romance_ in it-Bofur knew for a fact that neither Lord Elrond or Beorn had any romantic inclinations to their burglar and Lord Elrond did not flirt with Bilbo in Sindarian. But the characters and the storytelling made up for it.

“Yer brother did a wonderful job.” Bofur whispered as the actors began their bows.

Nori nodded. “He’s always had talent telling stories. I just wish there was less…”

“Kissin’? Courtin’? Off stage sex?” The ginger thief laughed at the ‘helpful’ suggestions.

“Exactly! If there was less of that then it would have been perfect.”

Surprisingly (or unsurprisingly, depending on how you look at it) the best performance had been written by their very own burglar (now Prince Consort), Bilbo. It was told from the hobbit’s point of view to accent the cultural differences and character development. It was obvious, though, that he had help with the dwarven cultural aspects. There was no way that the hobbit knew what half of the customs in his screenplay meant without consulting anyone.

“I didn’t know that you said that to him.” Nori whispered in his ear as the Bilbo on stage (a young dwarf with his short beard painted over) argued with ‘Bofur’.

The real Bofur shrugged. “He was homesick.”

There was far less romance in Bilbo’s version, but it was still there. How could it not be? Something stirred in Bofur as he watched the other version of himself and his One pressed against each other under Nori’s furs…to keep _warm_.

Nori was mortified. “Oh Mahal, did he see everything?!”

“Shh, Nori.”

The ‘Company’ travelled from Beorn’s home and into Mirkwood, getting caught by the spiders and saved by Bilbo only to be captured and imprisoned by the elves. Then they were travelling down the river and towards Lake Town. Bilbo got sick and Thorin hovered until he was back on his feet. Then the company was off towards Erebor and there was little Bilbo face-to-face with a giant paper Mache Smaug.

_“Tell me, thief, how you hide yourself from me.”_

_“And what kind of thief would that make me if I revealed my secrets to a stranger?”_

“Ah, love, what kind of thief does that make _ye_?” Bofur’s teasing earned him a slap on the thigh. Not that it upset him. In fact, the dark haired dwarf had to suppress a chuckle at his lover’s expense.

Smaug left and was slain by Bard. Thorin lead the group into the mountain.

It was odd watching the king become ensnared by the gold from the hobbit’s point of view. Though, to be fair, Bilbo was the only one with a clear head at the time; that much was obvious. Every dwarf in the company had fallen victim to the gold lust, just not as greatly as Thorin had.

Did Glóin truly attempt to build statues of his wife and son with the gold coins? Had Fíli and Kíli dragged each other off to go swim (more like lay on the gold and flail their arms and legs) in the massive piles of gold and gems? Was Thorin always adorning Bilbo in gold and jewels like a doll? It was all very fuzzy.

Then came the part that all members of the company had been both anticipating and dreading: The Arkenstone. They watched as ‘Bilbo’ pulled the stone from his bedroll and slipped out of the mountain while the dwarfs were asleep.

_“Why give this to us?”_

_“To avoid a pointless war.”_

_“War is unavoidable at this point, Mister Baggins.”_

_“They are my friends, my family, and I want them safe.”_

Bofur flinched. His ginger haired dwarf curled an arm around him, lovingly stroking his shoulder.

“We were too cruel.”

“We were _forgiven_.” _‘That didn’t mean it was forgotten.’_ Bofur thought bitterly.

_“They will not welcome you once they know.”_

_“So be it, as long as they live, I will be at peace.”_

The battle was far shorter than in the other performances. The fighting was detailed, yes, but it only lasted long enough to go through the important parts of the battle. Fíli and Kíli falling; Beorn going on a rampage in his bear form; Thorin falling; Azog’s death; the eagles, and then the theater was plunged into darkness.

Slowly, one dim light came to rest on the still form of ‘Bilbo’ (draped in a silvery chiffon cloak to give the pretense of invisibility) on the center of the stage, a large rock a few feet from his head.

“Poor lad…”

“Nori, shh.”

More lights came up and then Bilbo was swept away through fallen corpses and wounded warriors to talk with Thorin, who he thought was on his deathbed. The toymaker turned to say something to Nori (and honestly, he couldn’t even remember what he was going to say) when he noticed that his dwarf’s eyes were suspiciously wet. Bofur wisely kept his mouth shut.

The play ended with ‘Thorin’ being crowned king.

The applause was deafening, only to get louder as Fíli and Kíli led a blushing Bilbo onto the stage.

Finally the audience started leaving the theater and Bofur sat patiently with Nori until the thief was ready to leave.

“You know,” He said when it became obvious that Nori wasn’t getting up anytime soon. “They’re performin’ the show again tomorrow if ye want to see it again.”

Bofur wouldn’t mind sitting through the show again. He enjoyed it. And if Nori gave him a bright smile and a kiss that made his toes curl for the suggestion, well that was an added bonus. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On this note I bid you all good night.


	4. On a date (kind of), Thorin/Bilbo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait I was helping my aunt renovate her house. To make up for it I'm going to post a few more chapters today. After that there should be a regular updating schedule.

There was a reason that Thorin II Oakenshield stayed away from the Shire. It wasn’t just because he wanted to keep the gentle hobbits out of the affairs of dwarfs; no, believe it or not it was because he was _afraid_ of the hobbits.

Okay, not exactly afraid. More….apprehensive and uneasy when it came to the little folk. Yes, that was it. He certainly wasn’t afraid of them.

Why did Thorin feel this way? One word: Dain.

_“My Da says tha’ the ‘obbits are tiny, vicious creatures with ‘uge feet. They’re covered from ‘ead ta foot in thick, matted fur an’ they dig ‘oles in the ground ta live in an’-”_

_“Oh shut up Dain! You are such a liar!”_

_“I am not Dís! Da said tha’ they ‘ave pointy teeth and they never get full so they keep eatin’ an’ eatin’ everythin’ in sight…even people.”_

For a young dwarrow, that was a pretty terrifying tale. He and Frerin stayed close for a week to protect the other from any wandering hobbits. Obviously they knew that there was a certain amount of embellishment to it. They just weren’t sure how much.

Years and years later Thorin would (reluctantly) make his way into the Shire to find the fourteenth member of his company. Imagine his surprise when instead of insect-ridden, muddy holes that were haphazardly dug into the ground, he found (dare he say) charming little homes carefully dug into the hills with fences and gardens and little round doors and chimneys looking altogether _civilized_.

The next surprise came in the form of a hobbit.

He was not covered from head to foot in hair. In fact, the only hair that he had was on his head and his feet. The tiny thing didn’t even have a beard! He did, however, have a head full of thick honey colored curls and eyes as green as the grass covered hills he lived in. He was actually very comely…for someone without a beard.

Yet despite how attractive Thorin may or may not have thought he was, it didn’t mean Thorin trusted him. Yes, better to keep the hobbit as far away as possible.

_‘So, this is the hobbit.’_

_‘Looks more like a grocer than a burglar.’_

For some reason, the hobbit came running after them the following morning.

Joy.

It was all well and good for the first few weeks. A couple of insults here, a burning glare there (no Thorin that is not the burglar’s head) and all was good. The burglar stayed away from the dwarf King, just like he wanted.

Then came the trolls.

 _‘The secret is to skin them first!’_  Perhaps Dain’s story had some merit after all. What an idiot Thorin was for bring a dwarf-eating creature on this quest.

 _‘He’s got worms….in his tubes? In fact they all have them.’_ Oh. Maybe…maybe he was just lying to bide for time. Yes there was no way that this tiny _weak_ creature could kill and skin a fully grown dwarf. Hopefully.

 _‘No thanks to your burglar.’_ Liar.

He was _this_ _close_ to starting to think better about the burglar, but Gandalf took them to the elves’ home. The fucking elves; and Bilbo Baggins looked at them like they were the sun and moon and stars personified. Traitor.

Yes Bilbo Baggins was not to be trusted. Not when he was dangling off of the mountainside because of the rock giants, definitely not when he escaped the goblins with no explanation as to _how_. When that small body launched himself at the orc and saved him from certain death, well Thorin figured that perhaps Bilbo could be trusted…a little.

Throughout the rest of their journey Bilbo proved himself on more than one occasion: saving the company from the giant spiders when Thorin could not; getting all thirteen dwarfs out of their cells in Thranduil’s palace unseen-though barrels would not be his first choice, it did get the job done; facing the dragon more than once; and risking the tentative friendship that he and Thorin had by giving the Arkenstone to Thranduil and Bard so he could keep the company safe.

Thorin repaid him by dangling him off of the side of the mountain and banishing him.

It wasn’t until after the battle that Thorin saw his hobbit again.

He had made sure that his nephews and the rest of the company was alive-they were, just worn and wounded, he himself was ordered to stay in bed while his arm chest and leg healed- before he ordered one of the more abled body dwarfs to bring him his hobbit.

_‘He hasn’t been found yet Majesty. When he is I shall bring him straight here.’_

It took hours for someone to find Bilbo. In those long hours Thorin sent a letter off to his sister in the Blue Mountains, repealed Bilbo’s banishment and yelled at more than one man, dwarf, and elf for tending to him instead of looking for Bilbo.

Then the flap to his tent opened and Balin walked in with a smile on his face.

_‘You have a visitor, lad.’_

In walked a very exhausted, very _bloody_ Bilbo Baggins.

The first words out of Thorin’s mouth should have been _‘I’m sorry’_ or _‘Thank you’_ followed by _‘You are no longer banished’_ and _‘Please forgive me’_.  What came out was: “Have dinner with me.”

Poor Bilbo looked so confused. “What?”

“Have dinner with me.” The king repeated. “Please?”

“Now?”

“Yes. I’m sure that Balin would be kind enough to get us something to eat-” The pair heard a chuckled from outside the tent and Balin’s footsteps as he walked away. “-you look starving. Come and sit Bilbo. I have a few things I would like to tell you.” The blond sat at the edge of Thorin’s cot and waited.

After gathering enough courage and finding the right words, Thorin spent fifteen minutes apologizing about everything. He apologized for being consumed by the gold madness, for almost killing him, for dragging him out of his home and into this mess, and for being so cruel at the beginning.

“So let me get this straight. You hated me because you were scared of a story that Dain told you as a child?” Thorin mumbled ‘ _wasn’t scared_ ’ into his ale, nearly making Bilbo choke on his stew soaked bread. “You, my dear dwarf, are utterly ridiculous!”

Thorin grumbled some more. Bilbo laughed. And when the pain in his arm became too much Bilbo stole his bowl and his spoon and fed the dwarf. Part of Thorin was glad that no one was there to see this, and yet another part of him could hardly care less. He was alive, his kith and kin lived, and most importantly he had his burglar.

Sometime later when their food was finished the King pulled the burglar down to lay side-by-side with him and buried his face in those sweet curls. “Stay here…in Erebor…with me.”

Bilbo couldn’t say no. 


	5. Kissing, Dwalin/Ori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ori just wanted to kiss Dwalin and Dwalin is paranoid.

The first time it happened, they were at a tavern in the Blue Mountains. It was a few days before they were going off on their quest. Dwalin had been too inebriated to truly comprehend what he was doing, though not enough to forget and it the next morning.

Young Ori claimed he could not remember anything from the night before, including their amazing not-kiss (Because Dwalin would never _ever_ admit to taking advantage of sweet Ori).

He wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or a curse.

*

The second time, they were on the road and the bald dwarf was far more lucid…

*

Dwalin had the second watch shift that night, meaning that everyone was-or should have been-asleep. He was in the middle of sharping his axe (always good to keep it nice and sharp, you never know when an orc pack is going to attack) when he felt a rather small body slide up next to him.

It was not Bilbo Baggins.  

Ori had taken out his knitting needles and silently worked on what looked like a pair of gloves. Dwalin wasn’t too keen on staring a conversation. He didn’t know what he could say. He wasn’t sure if he _could_ say anything without choking and stuttering in shame. He-

“I remember, you know.” He was so quiet. Ori always spoke quietly and politely like he was self-conscious about people hearing him or actually listening.

“Remember what?” Oh yes, good job Dwalin. Feign ignorance. At least try not to flinch! What would Thorin say if he could see the head of his guard flinching because he was talking to a scribe (the bastard would probably find that amusing)?

Ori sighed. “You know what I mean. I saw the way you looked at me the next morning. You looked so shamed even though all we did was kiss.”

The bald dwarf winced. “Ye make it sound like I didn’t take advantage of ye.”

“You didn’t!” Someone stirred, making the pair freeze. They waited until they were sure everyone was settled before talking. “You didn’t.” Ori repeated, far quieter than before.

“Ye were drunk-”

“-No I wasn’t…I just pretended. I bought a pint, but Dori took it away. So, if anything, _I_ took advantage of _you_.” Here, Dwalin put down his axe so he could turn to stare at the young scribe. The lad was flushed and staring rather intently at his knitting.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why pretend? Why kiss me? Why pretend you have no memory?”

Ori shrugged. “I wanted to kiss you and you wouldn’t have kissed me if we were both sober-don’t deny it. The next day you didn’t even look at me. I figured that you just wanted to forget it.”

They fell into silence. Ori continued knitting again and Dwalin went back to sharpening his axe. They stayed up until Ori yawned and Dwalin needed to wake Bifur up for the third watch, not once muttering a word to the other. IT wasn’t a comfortable silence, but neither was it too awkward. It was just silence.

Dwalin breaks that peace. “Ye should get some sleep.”

“Okay.” The young scribe stood and stretched until his back gave a few satisfying pops. “Umm, Mister Dwalin?”

“What is it lad?”

Ori shifted from foot to foot, wringing his hands together. “Can I…Can I kiss you again? J-Just this once?” He should have said no, should have ended everything right there. Instead he merely nodded.

He was rewarded with the brightest smile from the scribe.

The kiss was chaste, compared to their last kiss; nothing more than gently pressing their lips together. It was sweet and innocent, _pure_. Ori kissed him with so much love that it made Dwalin tremble-thank Mahal neither Fíli nor Kíli were awake, he would never hear the end of it!

When Ori tried to pull away, Dwalin dropped his axe (how had he managed to keep a hold of it?) and pinned Ori’s body against his, crushing their lips back together. The ginger-haired dwarf smiled against his mouth.

It seemed as if that act made all the chastity from before melt from Ori’s body. It was _Ori_ who deepened the kiss. It was _Ori’s_ tongue that swept across his partner’s lips. It was _Ori_ who started the timeless dance with Dwalin.

Dwalin went along for the ride. He allowed Ori to take the lead, letting out an appreciative groan when the warm organ brushed against his. He could have taken control of the kiss, could have plundered that sweet little mouth leaving the scribe panting and begging for more. He chose to let Ori lead because with Ori leading he received a kiss so sweet his heart ached. Nothing at all like their first kiss which had been frantic and more teeth and tongue than anything.

His chest burned from the lack of air and he had to pull himself away from his little lover. They pressed their foreheads together, panting and mussing their beards.

“I-I think I should…I should go to bed n-now.” He did not try to move away.

“If ye think yer gettin’ away that easily then yer not as bright as I thought.” For a moment, Ori looked affronted. But then he smiled-shy and sweet and altogether _Ori_ -and told Dwalin that he was more than welcome to join him…once he woke Bifur up for his watch.

Oh Mahal, the lad was going to be the death of him. 


	6. Wearing each other's clothes, Thorin/Bilbo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin gets a little jealous.

Never in his lifetime did Thorin think that he would ever be jealous of a simple fur coat that was draped over a certain hobbit’s shoulders. Though, to be fair, it wasn’t the coat itself that he was jealous of…

_“Why, Mister Boggins, you’re shivering! Here, take my coat!”_

_“O-Oh I c-couldn’t possibly-”_

_“Please! What could of friend would I be if I let my hobbit freeze?”_

His hobbit… _his_ hobbit?!

No, unacceptable. Even if it was just in a friendly manner Kíli had no right to claim Bilbo as his hobbit. If anything, Bilbo belonged to _Thorin_.

He had the love-bites to prove it.

“And what, may I ask, has the fire done to you to warrant such a glare?” Bilbo asked as he pressed himself against Thorin’s side.

“I’m not angry at the fire.” Thorin grumbles.

“But you _are_ mad. Tell me what has angered you.” Thorin’s icy glare shifted from the fire to the coat still draped over Bilbo’s shoulders. The hobbit’s eyes followed his and when they landed on Kíli’s coat he grinned. “Thorin Oakenshield are you-”

“-No-”

“-jealous?”

“….No.”

“You are!”

“Not.”

“I can’t believe you’re jealous of a coat, Thorin. It’s a _coat_.”

Thorin is silent for a while and Bilbo’s grin slipped off his face. By the time Thorin speaks again, the hobbit had long since moved on from their conversation, distracting himself by playing with one of Thorin’s much larger hands as he stared at the fire.

“He called you his hobbit.”

“Hmm?” Bilbo gives him a sleepy-albeit curious-look. The look morphs into something akin to understanding when the words finally sink in. It’s new to him, the concept of dwarven love. It is consuming, possessive, passionate, and fierce. It makes sense that Thorin is jealous about Kíli calling him ‘his hobbit’. Had Thorin been a hobbit, Bilbo would have kissed him, assured him that Kíli was only jesting and that Bilbo only had eyes for _him_ and all would be well. But Thorin was not a hobbit. Obviously. No matter that each of them knew that Kíli had not meant it in _that_ _way_ , Thorin’s possessive nature still thought it as a threat (HA! Bilbo and _Kíli_? It is more likely that Thorin and Thranduil would forget their differences over a nice cup of tea and braid each other’s hair!) and he would be in a mood until Bilbo did something. There is-hopefully-one way to fix this. “I’ll be right back.”

Any protests Thorin has are silenced by a quick kiss.

The dwarf watched him make his was around the sleeping members of the company. He watched as Bilbo walked to his nephew’s side and draped Kíli’s coat over both of them and then walked over to their bedrolls to pick up Thorin’s discarded furs. Now that _really_ gets the dwarf’s attention. Blue eyes never leaving the hobbit, he follows each motion as the furs are lifted, swung around the lithe body, and draped over his frame.

Bilbo isn’t exactly _swimming_ in the fur but they are still too big on him. The sight stirs something inside the king. He can’t help but yearn for the privacy of his rooms in Erebor where he will request Bilbo to wear nothing _but_ those furs and then fuck his hobbit senseless on his- _their_ -bed. Hmm…Bilbo should keep the furs on while Thorin pounds into him. Oh yes that would be wonderful…

“There. Is that better my silly dwarf?” Bilbo asked as he sat back down next to the dwarf.

“Oh my dear hobbit, you have no idea.” His voice was husky, making red bloom across the blonde’s cheeks. The heat in Thorin’s belly intensifies; blood rushing south. Something must have shown on his face because Bilbo’s green eyes are getting darker, his breath hitched.

“I think I do. Show me?”

The next morning there are grumbles about not being able to sleep and more than one lewd comment is made at their expense but Thorin cannot bring himself to care because Bilbo is still wearing his furs. 


	7. Unrequited, Fíli/Kíli

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's wrong, Fíli is his brother and he loves someone else

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I changed the prompt, I liked this one better.
> 
> WARNING: This chapter has some dark themes in it. 
> 
> This chapter is currently unedited so it's still a little messy

It was wrong. So _so_ wrong.

Fíli was his older brother, there was no way that Kíli should feel anything like this. His heart shouldn’t speed up when his brother laughs and throws an arm over his shoulders. His breath shouldn’t hitch when the first thing he sees in the morning is Fíli’s golden hair glowing from the sunlight. He shouldn’t take so much time when he’s braiding his brother’s hair-he shouldn’t caress the strands like they were the most precious thing in the world. He shouldn’t stare at his brother as he undresses to bathe. He shouldn’t love him like this.

He shouldn’t, but he does.

He’s tried so hard not to. He tries to look at other people the way he looks at his brother but he _can’t_. There just too _wrong_. Their hair is the wrong color, they don’t smile the right way, they’re too tall, too short, too feminine, too old, too young, too serious, too…not Fíli.

It hurts that he can’t stop these feelings. He wants to-Mahal knows he wants to-but he _can’t_. It’s too late. Dwarves only love once and it’s too late for him to stop this.

And he knows his feelings are not reciprocated. He sees the way that Fíli looks at Ori. It hurts, but if his One is happy, then he will be happy.

That doesn’t stop the pain when Fíli asks Ori to braid his hair instead of Kíli. Fíli and Ori smile at each other and when Ori’s fingers detangle themselves from Fíli’s mane, he asks the prince to braid his hair. Kíli can’t watch any longer. He gets up and walks away.

Uncle and Bilbo find him later. There are tears still rolling down his cheek and mucous coming from his nose; his cheeks are splotchy and his hands are covered in blood and sap from punching a tree. He’s a mess and he knows it. But Bilbo sits him down and runs back to camp to get a few medical supplies (Kíli will never know that Fíli asks Bilbo what’s wrong and Bilbo gives the older brother a very dirty look). While he’s gone Uncle holds him and mumbles apologies into his hair. When Bilbo returns he cleans Kíli’s wounds and bandages them and scrubs his face clean, all the while giving him a heartbreaking look.

They don’t speak of this again, but when watching Fíli and Ori becomes too much Kíli will seek out his uncles (because Bilbo has earned that title) and they will let him cry.

At Fíli and Ori’s wedding, Kíli has had enough. It’s shortly after the battle and the reclaiming of Erebor. After the battle. Fíli is wrapped in so much gauze that only a small portion of his skin is visible, Ori is bloody and down an arm but they smile brightly at each other as they say their vows and promises to Mahal to love and protect the other. Kíli’s in so much pain and he can’t stay for the whole ceremony. Uncle and Bilbo and a few other members of the company notice him leave. Fíli does not. He only has eyes for Ori. Always Ori, never Kíli. Not in _that_ way.

As soon as he is able, Bilbo slips away and pulls Kíli into his and Thorin’s room. Kíli doesn’t cry. He has no tears left to fall.

He has to get away. Not forever, never forever. He can’t stay away for too long, he will always come back to Fíli. When the envoy leaves for the Blue Mountains, Kíli doesn’t hesitate to mount his pony.

“Why are you going?! You’re still injured!” Fíli yells. He screams and pleads at Kíli to stay “Mother can wait! You can barely stand on your own!” But Kíli does not back down. He looks away from his brother-his One-and says his goodbyes. It hurts that the first time Fíli pays him so much attention is when he is leaving. There is a chance still that Kíli and the envoy could be attacked by Orcs and die(some sick part of him wishes they are so Kíli does not have to return and watch Fíli live his life adoring Ori) and Fíli is worried. He’s worried for his _brother_. That’s all he will ever be.

Fíli screams at Uncle and Bilbo and anyone who can hear him (except Ori, he will never yell at Ori), he begs them to make Kíli stay but they don’t. It’s Bilbo that yells at Fíli, telling him that enough is enough and if Kíli wants to leave then that is his choice. Fíli storms off in a huff.

It is months before Kíli lays eyes on Erebor again. In those months he has done some very bad things. He drank, he yelled at his mother (she saw the hurt in his eyes and didn’t punish him too much), but worst of all he slept with Bofur. Several times. Before they made it back to the Blue Mountains, one of their healers declared him pregnant. It was wrong, so wrong. He would love his baby-of that there was no doubt-but its father was _wrong_.

 And Bofur, dear sweet Bofur, he knows why Kíli is upset. But he smiles.

“Marry me.” He says as they travel in the shadow of the mountain. They are nearly there.

“What?”

“Marry me. For the babe. An’ for yerself. I won’t let ye do this alone.” There something in his tone, something Kíli knows all too well: longing. It hits him that Bofur has fallen for him. He can’t let Bofur suffer through the same pain that he does.

“I can’t love you back.” He points out.

Bofur shrugs. “Aye I know. But we’re friends, and that’s enough.” It’s not. They both know it. It’s never enough and it would be cruel of Kíli to agree.

They wed that evening with his Mother officiating. Bofur declares his love for Kíli and swears he will love and protect both him and their growing family for as long as he can. Kíli promises to be faithful. Swears he will protect Bofur and their child (and anymore they will have in the future) for as long as he can and he will stay by Bofur’s side.

It hurts. It so wrong he can feel it in his bones. But Bofur gives him his brightest, sweetest smile and some of the pain vanishes. At least Bofur can be happy.

The trip home is odd. Kíli is banned from riding a pony by his healer, his mother and his husband. So he rides in a wagon padded with furs with two other pregnant dwarves (one he thinks is a woman, but he is too afraid to ask). At night, Bofur helps Kíli out of the wagon and they sit next to his mother and entertain Bombur’s multitude of children with stories of their journey. Bofur always keeps a hand on Kíli’s swelled belly, stroking it lovingly as he talks and occasionally pressing kisses to Kíli’s hair, cheek and temple. Kíli smiles even as his heart breaks.

Sometimes, in the privacy of their tent, and before the babe grew too much, they spent the evening having sex. Bofur was gentle and careful and so damn _loving_. Tears would well in his eyes that he would blame on the pregnancy. He would curse himself for his stupidity after Bofur had fallen asleep (with one arm secured over Kíli’s belly).

 _Why_? Why couldn’t he have stopped himself from falling for his brother? It would have saved him so much pain and he could have easily fallen for the toymaker that loved him. They could have been deliriously happy- _euphoric_ -like his uncles, like his parents, like his brother and Ori. He was happy enough, he had a baby on the way with a kindhearted husband by his side that adored him, but it just wasn’t right. And it never would be.

By the time they make it back to Erebor his stomach has expanded so much that it looks like he has swallowed a pony. He can no longer walk without someone on either side to help him. Mother worries and even tries to get the caravan to stop until the babe is born-Kíli points out that there’s no point since the mountain is less than a week away. Bofur and Gimli joke that there is more than one babe in his belly. They both get their ears boxed for that.

After a few more days though, it seems to be less of a joke. Bombur’s wife has taken it upon herself to help Kíli through his pregnancy and she tells him about all twelve of hers(Kíli nearly faints at the high number, but Rania winks and makes some rather lewd comments about her husband that Kíli could have gone his whole life without hearing). Her first, fifth, seventh, and tenth children were the largest out of all of her children ranging from ten to thirteen pounds at birth versus the average seven to nine.

She had never been this large with either of them.

“Tis a rare occurrence, little one, but multiples can happen. If I’m not mistaken, Bom and Bofur’s Mam was a multiple.”

That did not make him feel better.

Uncle Thorin and Uncle Bilbo met them at the gate. Fíli is not there. Uncle Bilbo’s stomach was swollen with child but not nearly as much as Kíli’s. Kíli allowed Bofur to carry him to his Uncles. They smiled and embraced him but there were questions in their eyes. Questions they would not ask out in the open.

“Uncle Thorin, Uncle Bilbo my husband and I are tired. Care to show us to our room?” Their eyes widen at the word husband but they lead them to the Royal wing.

“Where’s Fíli?” He can’t help but ask. Bofur’s arms tighten around him and Kíli squeezes his hand. He doesn’t want to hurt his husband but he needs to know why his brother is not here after putting up such a fight to make him stay. Bilbo tells him that his brother refused to come out of his rooms because he was still mad at Kíli for leaving.

“That’s petty.” Bofur says with malice. It is one of the few times that Bofur is anything but cheery and kind. Part of Kíli was touched that his husband was angry on his behalf while the other was angry at him for talking badly about his One.

“I agree.” Ori says as he meets them in the hall. Despite everything, Kíli does not hate Ori. They were friends long before he and Fíli married. Before Kíli fell for Fíli. Even though Kíli cannot have his one, there is no one on Middle Earth who he would trust more with his brother’s heart.

(And yet someplace deep _deep_ down inside his heart, a place that is flooded and ruled by anger and jealousy and the hurt from being rejected he feels a sick glee at seeing Ori’s flat stomach while his own carries what could be more than one child. In this deep chasm he tells himself that if Fíli had chosen him, these babes would be his.)

Ori smiles, embraces him, and only touches Kíli’s stomach when he gets a nod of approval. Kíli cannot say no to his friend when there is so much hurt and yearning swirling in his eyes.

(In that dark place in his heart, there is laughter.)

Ori leaves them be-he has to go knock some sense into his husband-once they reach Kíli and Bofur’s room. Bofur helps him get situated on the large bed before they explain to Thorin and Bilbo everything that has happened. It’s hard to tell how they truly feel, if they are as happy as they claim but Kíli will not call them out on it.

There is an announcement the next day. Kíli cannot attend. His back is killing him, making it impossible for him to stand up to use the privy let alone the duration of the ceremony. Bofur promises that he will retell him every boring event in excruciating detail. He does not want to leave. After three long kisses and a few well-placed threats Bofur is dragged to the Throne Room by his brother and his cousin.

He is back almost two hours later, panting as if he had run the whole way.

“If I get one more ‘Congratulations’ I’m going to start throwin’ people down the shafts.” They take dinner in their rooms and Bofur spends the evening singing songs to Kíli’s belly (Kíli has been told that he is not, under any circumstances, allowed to sing to their child/children in fear that they will go deaf). Kíli is content and touched, but he isn’t _happy_.

Fíli still hadn’t visited.

In the middle of the night Kíli goes into labor. It’s long and hard and he’s in so much pain. He’s surrounded by his mother, uncle, husband, Óin, and Rania but not the one person he wanted. He screams and cries. Sometimes it’s to Bofur who shushes him and assures him that he’s there and everything is going alright. Sometimes it’s to Mahal, begging him to let his pain end. Mostly it’s to Fíli who is still not there. He calls out apologies, though what he’s apologizing for is uncertain. It makes his mother cry and curse his brother.

After twenty six long hours, his first child enters the world. She’s small, just under seven pounds and only nineteen inches, with a wild mane of dark hair and Bofur’s nose. He barely has time to admire her before he is pushing out another child. This one is smaller than the first. She is six pounds seventeen inches with a tuft of fine reddish-brown hair and peach fuzz sideburns and a nose slim like his, but rounded like her other father’s.

They are beautiful.

Bofur cuddles and kisses his daughters before placing them in Kíli’s waiting arms so he can nurse them (his breasts have swollen slightly so he can nurse his children for the first few months).

“Two girls…” Bofur breathes.

“Aye, it is a blessing from Mahal.” Thorin agrees.

Kíli doesn’t pay much attention after that. He is too focused on his little girls in his arms. He loves them, deeply and absolutely loves them, but in that deep part of his heart there are traitorous whispers that they are not quite perfect. That his youngest would look better with golden hair and his oldest daughter’s eyes were too dark a shade of blue. Kíli pushed those thoughts away assuring himself that his girls were enough, were perfect enough.

Bofur takes the girls once they are done feeding, and tucks them into the cradle Bifur has made them. He kisses Kíli brows and thanks him more times than the young dwarrow can count.

“Get some rest, ye deserve it.” He is asleep in minutes.

A few hours later he is woken by the door opening and closing. At first he thought it was Bofur coming back with food, but the footsteps were too light. Carefully grabbing the throwing knife on the bedside table Kíli sat up, ready to attack. He was met with a very unexpected sight.

Hunched over the cradle was his brother. He looked at the girls like they were precious treasures and yet he did not touch them.

“What are you doing?” Are the first words out of Kíli’s mouth. Fíli glances up at him with a grimace that was probably meant to have been a smile.

“I heard the good news.”

“Which one?” He asks as he places the knife back onto the table. It’s both curious and snide at the same time and Fíli flinches.

“I’m sorry for not being there. I should have been.”

The younger brother isn’t sure what he is referring to, so he keeps his mouth shut. He’s hurt that his brother wasn’t there to greet him; that he wasn’t there when he was in labor. Even though he’s here now, it doesn’t make the pain go away.

Fíli looks better than the last time he saw him. There are only a few scars on his face and arms that Kíli can see. It makes him look more handsome. Kíli resists the urge to run his fingers over every new scar. It’s not appropriate.

“Yeah I heard you and Bofur got hitched.”

“I’m his one.”

Fíli raises a blond eyebrow at the wording. “But he is not yours?” Kíli does not answer. “Well, I’m happy for you. You deserve to be happy.” But he’s not happy. He’s _content_. He will never be truly happy. Not without Fíli. “You have been blessed, brother.” Kíli doesn’t think so. His One is a curse-someone he can never have-and Bofur and the girls are a very messed up idea of an apology from Mahal. Maybe it’s not an apology. Maybe it’s a taunt.

“I hope to be as blessed as you in a few months.” What? Fíli turns to him, smiling brightly and proudly like Bofur had when he held his girls for the first time, and tells him that Ori is with child.

Kíli’s world shatters all over again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sorry


	8. Shopping, Dwalin/Ori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin does not want a new wardrobe, thank you very much!

“No.”

“Dwalin you need-”

“- _No_ , Ori.”

Said scribe huffed. He pulled the measuring tape out of the seamstress’s hands and lined it up to measure Dwalin’s chest…

…Only to be smacked away.

“Now you’re just being ridiculous! Dwalin you can’t just wear this one outfit for the rest of your life.”

“Watch me.”

The seamstress, a middle aged woman from Lake Town, threatens to stick her pins in a very sensitive place if the bald dwarf didn’t let her take his measurements. “Ye wouldn’t dare.” She responds by holding up a handful of pins.

After a very long internal struggle Dwalin concedes to getting his measurement takes-on the condition that Ori does his in-seam, out-seam and waist. He does not want that evil woman anywhere near his privates.

*

A week later they receive a letter that Dwalin’s wardrobe is finished. They head out to Dale during their lunch break. Ori rushes into the shop and had paid for everything before Dwalin has the chance to walk through the doorway. The Royal Scribe pushes several heavy packages into his lover’s arms and carries even more in his own as they make their way to their home.

The clothes are exquisite, even Dwalin has to admit that. But it’s more clothes than he has ever owned in his life! Their bed is covered in a pile of clothes almost as large as the Lonely Mountain itself!

“Ori, lad, I love ye but why did ye buy so much clothes?”

From the other side of the cloth mountain, Ori pops up, arms laden with tunics. “Variety? Because we can finally afford to splurge on something as frivolous as this? Poor judgment? Take your pick.” Chuckling, the tall dwarf makes his way to the other side of the bed. He pulled Ori-tunics and all-to his chest and kisses him soundly.

“Ye’ve made yer point.”

“Good. Now strip.”

“I like where this is going.”

“Dwalin I didn’t know you enjoyed modeling new clothes.” Ori replies cheekily. 


	9. Hanging out with friends (family), Nori/Bofur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bifur doesn't like Nori.  
> Nori doesn't like Bifur.  
> That makes for some interesting dinners.

Bifur does not like Nori.

Nori does not like Bifur.

This is common knowledge.

Bifur does not like Nori because of Nori’s less than savory past. He has stolen, murdered, fucked too many people to count (be they dwarf, man, or even elf), abandoned his brothers, lied, been arrested on several occasions-and escaped prison shortly after. Yes, Bifur does not think him worthy enough for his cousin.

Nori doesn’t like Bifur because he undermines Bofur’s ability to choose for himself. He treats Bofur like a child and tries to get him to give up on Nori every chance he can. And when that doesn’t work he curses and yells and harasses Nori and on more than one occasion this leads to some form of fighting.

Needless to say, Bifur and Nori should not be in the same room together.

*

Bofur likes to have family meals. It comes from spending so long on the road with the company. And yet no matter how many disastrous meals they’ve had he always insists to have more.

Now it has become a pattern.

Bombur is always the first to arrive. He arrives an hour or so earlier at their new apartments (always alone because his wife and children haven’t made it to Erebor yet) and takes over the kitchen. Dori arrives next-but he is not allowed to help cook so he makes tea and sets the table. Ori and Dwalin arrive next. Dori makes a snide comment about Dwalin and Dwalin will make one about him and they will grin as a part of the not-friendship they have.

Nori and Bofur and Ori will never understand it.

Bifur is the last to arrive because he wants to spend as little time as possible with the thief.

**“I see you’re still here.”** Bifur will say in lieu of a greeting after he knocks heads with Bofur and Bombur.

 “Well seeing as how I live here…” And it is here that Bofur interjects and begs for a peaceful meal _for_ _once_.

Ten minutes later they are at it again.

**“So Bofur I met a charmin’ dwarf in the mines today. After talkin’ to him I think he would be perfect for ye and he’s eager to meet ye so just give me a date and time an-”**

“-Why can’t ye accept that he chose _me_?! I’m his _one_ and he is _mine_!”

“Ori dear please pass the salt.”

**“Ye don’t deserve him! He’s too good for ye!”**

“Bifur! We are trying to-”

“-Don’t ye think I know that by now? Ye tell me every time yer here! I don’ listen to ye because it doesn’t matter what ye think, what matters is what _Bofur_ thinks and I’m what he wants-”

**“-He doesn’t know what he wants!”**

The table will go quiet. Dori and Nori and Bombur will fume, Bifur doesn’t look like he will back down, Ori looks shocked, it is hard to tell what Dwalin thinks, but it is Bofur’s reaction that starts the next event. If Bofur sighs and puts his head in his hands then Bifur and Nori will continue their argument. If Bofur looks upset then Nori will drag Bifur into the kitchen and start throwing punches. If Bofur does nothing, if he looks blankly at the air in front of him then Nori will launch himself across the table, grab Bifur’s face and force him to look at his cousin.

“Don’t ye see what yer doing him?!”

Dwalin separates them. Bofur, no matter what happens, will grab Nori’s hand and kiss his cheek. Bombur and Bifur whisper furiously but there are no more arguments for the rest of the meal.

They clean up (Nori and Bifur pointedly throw the sharper objects at each other) and retire to the sitting room until the guests leave. Bifur leaves first with a few grunts and knocking heads with his kin. Dori and Ori thank Nori and Bofur for their hospitality and Bombur for the delicious (as always) meal. Bombur grins. There are many smacking noises as kith and kin say their goodbyes and as they walk through the door Bofur invites them all back the next day.

And the cycle repeats. 


	10. With animal ears, Dori/OMC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Ori knits, Dori is the model.

Dori loved his husband and he baby brother. He truly loved them. He loved that Ori liked to sit on his lap and learn how to knit. He loved that Naran encouraged him.

He did not love having to model each and every item Ori made.

“Ears Mama!” Ori giggled and bounced on his lap, reaching up to secure the ‘earmuffs’ on Dori’s ears.

Dori grimaced and ran a hand through Ori’s short hair. “Yes darling, and they’re lovely but do you have to use me as a test subject?”

The dwarfling nods, only half-hearing what his brother said because he's too busy admiring his work.

Naran chooses that moment to walk into the house. Dori can see the grin stretching across his face and he can only guess at how ridiculous he looked.

“Don’t you dare!”

“But ye look so lovely with yer bunny ears-”

“- _Doggy_ ears, Papa-”

“-Doggy ears, sorry for the mistake, lad.”

“S’okay”

The little dwarf slipped off of Dori’s lap and ran to his other ‘parent’ for a hug. The darker haired dwarf scooped him up and nuzzled his hairless cheeks.

While they were busy doing that Dori runs to the bedroom. He searched through the wooden chest until he found-Oh! There it is! In his hand was his mother’s mirror, one of the few things that he still had of her. It was golden with a braided handle encrusted with opal and diamonds.

He glanced at his reflection and grimaced.

Ori’s ‘dog’ ears were lopsided (one was several inches longer than the other) and made of splotchy green gray and pink yarn. It looked like Ori had tried to make one side gray with green spots and the underside pink, but he ended up mixing the colors. They were cute, yes, but Dorj looked ridiculous!

“Mama!” Ori ran into the room and attached himself to his brother’s side. “You like ‘em?”

“I…I love them.”

One warm hand cupped the back of his neck, rubbing a slow circle. “I think ye look wonderful, love.” And he presses a kiss to a spot right behind Dori’s ear that makes him melt. Brown eyes send the other dwarf a look that promises pain if he makes any jokes later that makes Naran chuckle.

Dori gets another kiss-a _proper_ kiss this time-that turns his grimace into a soft smile. 


	11. Babies, Dwalin/Ori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There so many problems: reclaiming a kingdom, feeding and housing dwarves and men, and staying healthy with limited resources during winter. Now add a baby on top of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some angst in this chapter, but the ending is happy!

Months One-Five:

It’s hard to discern when they conceive because months and months of less than average food has caused Ori to lose too much weight so Óin cannot figure out how far along he is and Ori has a _lot_ of sex with Dwalin so he can’t even make a guess.

When they find out about the baby it is when they are leaving Lake Town. Óin can only guess that Ori is between one and five months. Oh yes that is incredibly helpful.

Month Six:

Dwarven pregnancies last for a year, sometimes longer if it is the first child.

It’s hard not knowing how far along he is because he is either at a healthy weight and progressing nicely, or he is severely underweight and there could be complications with the baby. Ori hopes for the former. He _prays_ for it.

Dwalin has always been more pessimistic. He _knows_ (‘I can feel it in m’ bones.’) that Ori is more than five months along and it _hurts_. It hurts because his love and his child have suffered enough already. It hurts because even though they have reclaimed Erebor and survived the battle, the kingdom is riddles with mold, mildew, dust, dragon shit, and dead bodies so Ori can’t even go into the mountain until a good portion of it has been cleared away. It hurts because they don’t have enough food for all of the dwarves and men to have three, normal portioned meals a day, let alone the four dozen times a day Ori asks for something to eat. It hurts because he cannot provide for his love and their child could be sick or underdeveloped because of it.

So Dwalin goes without. He eats only half of his breakfast, skips lunch entirely, and eats only two thirds of his dinner. All of the extra food goes to Ori. Ori could rant for hours about how it’s not healthy for Dwalin to eat so little, but he always polishes off every morsel given to him. And after two weeks of this treatment he can see his little love’s stomach growing larger and wider and Dwalin can relax a bit because he can at least do _this_ for his child.

Month Seven:

They have a home. An actual home inside the mountain. They were a top priority family, second only to the King and the Princes, because of their situation and the oncoming winter.

Ori _adored_ their new home. A common room, an office, _two_ bathrooms, _three_ bedrooms, and a kitchenette. After growing up with nothing, he feels no less than a king with his own palace. He says this to Dwalin as they sleep in their bed for the first time. His husband (oh yes they are married now!) chuckles and kisses him and tells him that now he will never want for nothing.

“Can I have chips and raspberry jam?” Except that.

Month Eight:

The baby does not like green food. Ori has never been prouder, even as he’s hunched over a bucket emptying the few contents of his stomach. Dwalin thinks he’s gone mad.

Winter has settled in the Lonely Mountain and that means there is even less food. Yet despite this Ori had swollen like an Oliphant and continues to grow.

Dwalin tires more quickly. The dwarf had taken to skipping both breakfast and lunch and only eating three quarters of his dinner so Ori and the baby have more-they need it more than he does.

With the help of Dori, Nori, Bifur, Bofur, and Bilbo they managed to turn one of the spare bedrooms into a nursery. Bifur and Bofur carved beautiful furniture and wooden toys, Dori made blankets and clothes (‘but not too many Dori because I want my baby to be able to wear some of the clothes _I_ made!’) and curtains and cute little stuffed toys, Bilbo and Nori painted and Bilbo was kind enough to write some stories for the baby (tradition Shire tales and even a few original ones) and Nori put in a special security system for his niece or nephew. It’s _beautiful_. And though Dwalin complains about the lack of gold and gems he agrees.

Month Nine:

There is only so much food the elves can spare what with their forest being sick and in the middle of winter.

There’s too little food and too many mouths to feed.

Most of the men are sick and many die. Bilbo is sick-on the brink of death he hears Óin whisper to Thorin on evening. The company doesn’t take the news well.

Dwalin-and a few other dwarves-falls ill. Ori felt like his world was falling apart. He cried and screamed and begged Mahal to let Dwalin live, to not let his baby grow up without it’s father like he had. It’s not _fair_ because Dwalin got sick because he was giving most of his food to Ori.

Even though there are many in the mountain that live, there is no life. No songs, no laughter. Just sickness and starvation.

And then they are saved.

Gandalf and those blessed eagles reappeared in Erebor. Seven carry thrice their weight in food (where they got it from, they will never know but neither do they ask) two carry large crates of medicine, and four carries tons of furs. Ori personally thanks each eagle and Gandalf.

He hoped that now his husband and his friend could get better.

Month Ten:

Eating three meals and given proper medicine made Dwalin feel healthier than he had in months. He could finally get back out of bed, perform his duties as Head of the Guard, _spar_ , and most importantly he could pick up his husband.

It was the first thing he did when he had gotten his health back.

The baby had taken to using Ori’s organs as punching bags. He didn’t care, he rejoiced in each kick, wriggle and stretch because it meant that his baby was okay (or he hoped that the baby was okay). Dwalin laughed-loud and robust-each time a tiny foot or a tiny hand hit his through Ori’s skin.

“He’s goin’ to be a tough one!”

“Or she, you never know.”

“Yes, or she.”

Month Eleven:

No.

_No_!

This can’t be happening, it’s too _soon_!

In the last few days of the eleventh month, barely after the first sings of spring, Ori goes into labor. He and Dwalin know it’s too soon, no matter what it’s at least a month too soon.

He and Dwalin are carted off to the healing wing. Dori and Bilbo and Óin meet them there. The bald dwarf curses and snarls at anyone who tried to make him leave, so Óin let him stay.

Ori’s in pain for what seems like weeks, when in reality it is only sixteen hours. In that time he managed to break one of Dwalin’s hands and every finger on that hand and splinter the frame of his bed (‘He has my strength.’ Dori offered as a reason.).

Then they hear their child cry for the first time.

“A baby boy!” Bilbo cried.

Honestly, it’s no surprise that it’s a boy but Dwalin still feels floored and for the first time it hit s him that his is _real_ and he’s a _father_.

“Is he healthy?” Ori asked tiredly.

“Looks like his skin’s a bit yellow, take ‘im outside the mountain several time a day and it should be normal in about two weeks.” A common enough ailment that Ori trusts this quick diagnosis.

They are handed their son, wrapped in the softest blanket that Ori made, and the first thing Dwalin does is groan. Their child was small (smaller than Dwalin could remember Fíli or Kíli being) and his skin tinged yellow but that’s not what had Dwalin hiding his face in his husband’s shoulder. No it is the ginger Mohawk his son sported.

Ori thought it adorable and hilarious. “Oh he’s wonderful!”

They name him Klurin.

Klurin gets passed to each family member and every member of the company. They offer blessings and compliments but the only ones who comment on his hair are Fíli and Kíli.

“Pay up Kíli, he’s not bald.”

Dwalin groaned again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had Jaundice as a baby and my aunt and my dad tell me that my Mum kept me by the window until it went away (apparently it was only mild?)


	12. Making out, Bofur/Nori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nori likes getting a few minutes of alone time with Bofur

The cover of night helped the star-haired thief on several occasions. It helped him slip away-unnoticed-with his ‘procured’ items. It helped him sneak out of prison. And of course there were many other instances where the cover of night had been useful to him, but his favorite instances were when he and Bofur were able to slip away from the company and get a few minutes to themselves.

*

He hadn’t been waiting long-ten, fifteen minutes tops-before Bofur stumbled out of the trees. His toy maker wasn’t silent (in fact, Nori was certain that the word ‘silent’ wasn’t even in his vocabulary) so the thief can’t help but grin and ask if anyone followed him.

“Oh ha ha. Now he thinks he’s funny.”

“I’m hilarious and you know it.”

They bickered like that for a few more minutes, Bofur moving over so he and Nori were sitting side by side with Nori’s arm thrown over his shoulder.

“I missed ye.” He says, ending the bickering.

He gets an incredulous look. “Ye saw me all day.”

“That’s not what I meant and ye know it.”

Nori kissed him. Bofur kissed back.

Suddenly the thief had a lapful of dwarf. Which was not bad, not bad at all. Nori slipped his hands down and into his lover’s breeches to grab that delectable arse (to steady Bofur, of course. Wouldn’t do for him to fall off of Nori’s lap after all). Bofur let out a strangled half-moan half-yelp, throwing his arms around Nori’s neck and dragging them close-

_Oh._

He pulled his mouth away. “Don’ start somethin’ yer not gonna finish, love.”

“You-ah-started it.” Oh yes, he did.

They crashed their mouths back together, Nori nibbling at Bofur’s bottom lip and Bofur happily separated his lips. Had they more time, Nori would have gone slow so as to savor each and every bit of his lover as he could. They did not have time. Maybe another ten minutes at most. Nori was _relentless_. He seemed to be trying to suck the very life out of poor Bofur. And when the need for air became apparent he moved to attack Bofur’s neck.

“No y-ye can’t- _ah_ -not enough t-time- _oh_ ” Nori _bit_ him. Not hard enough to break skin but certainly hard enough to leave a mark. Bastard. “We should get back ‘fore someone starts lookin’ for us.”

 **“ _What_ are you doing to my cousin?!”** Oh…too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my best, I'll admit. This one gave me troubles because I've been so damn tired the past two days. I may or may not have the other chapter (the one that was supposed to be today's) up tonight, so if not I'll try to post it before I go to work tomorrow


	13. Eating Ice-cream, Fíli/Kíli

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kíli has cravings, Fíli loses sleep, and Bilbo is a bit mad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fluffy Mpreg to make up fro the angsty one :)

“Fíli, Fíli I’m hungry!” No response. “Fíli! C’mon wake up! I need to eeeat.”

Voice muffled by his pillow, Fíli responded in a tired voice. “Then git up an’ git s’mthin’. ‘M tryin’t’ _sleep_.”

Kíli pouted. Even though he couldn’t see it, the blonde could _hear_ the pout in his One’s voice. “But Fíli, you know Óin put me on bed-rest after the scare last week. _And_ it’s so cold in the mountain, I could slip on a patch of ice and get hurt. And you know what, I’m carrying _your_ child so you should be a little nicer to-” 

“-Oh Mahal, I get it. I’ll get you something to eat, just shut up! If I had known that you were going to be like this while you were pregnant, I would have insisted on carrying the baby.” The blond dragged himself out of bed, stumbling slightly when he tugged on his pants. The younger dwarf watched each movement with an appreciative look.

Fíli’s shirtless back was littered in bright red, crescent shaped marks and pink tracks from Kíli dragging his hands down, marking him. ‘ _Mine_ ’ He thought.

Unfortunately, his view got obscured when Fíli put on a night-shirt and his furs. “What do you want me to get you?”

Kíli didn’t even have to think about it. “Something cold and sweet.”

“Cold and sweet?”

“Yes.”

“Kíli, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s been snowing for the past two days.”

“I noticed. I’m not an idiot.”

“And you want something cold and sweet.”

“Yes, and bacon.”

Oh no, no way was this turning into another midnight-meal. The older prince pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Kíli, it’s the middle of the night. I’m not making bacon.”

“B-but the baby wants bacon!”

“Does he? Does he really want bacon or are you using the baby as an excuse because _you_ want bacon?”

“The baby does!” He sounds affronted and so genuinely hurt that Fíli nods and adds bacon to the list.

“Fine, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

He bent down and kissed his brother once-twice but was pushed away the third time. Probably a good thing because he wouldn’t have wanted to leave if they had continued. As he walked out of their chamber he heard Kíli shout ‘thanks’, Fíli told him that he better be awake by the time he got back.

*

After two, almost three years of work, Erebor is decent. The smell of dragon is gone, as is the smell of rot. The dust is gone and everything looks great.

Too bad it’s so damn cold.

In the warmer months, the cool temperatures of the mountain are a blessing. Now, in the middle of the night during _winter_ , Fíli shivers in his boots as he walked to the kitchen. They really needed to fix this problem.

He muttered several curses about his brother, but he didn’t mean them. Kíli wasn’t kidding when he said he was on bed-rest and Fíli honestly wouldn’t have let him leave the bedroom in this cold. Still, that didn’t mean that he had to make _Fíli_ run to the kitchens every time he got a bit peckish. Last time he had asked for a list of food a mile long and by the time the older brother made it back to their rooms, Kíli was fast asleep.  

Surprisingly, the kitchen wasn’t empty and oh it was so _warm_! Bilbo was at the table munching on a biscuit. He smirked when his eyes landed on the prince. “Cravings?” he asked in a knowing tone. The other blond makes an affirmative noise that sounds more like a sigh, making Bilbo chuckle. “What is it this time?”

Still grumpy from being woken up, he mockingly imitates his brother. “Something cold and sweet and oh yeah a side of bacon while you’re at it. Aww Fíli don’t go back to sleep, your child needs food.” Bilbo snorts.

“He did not say that last bit.”

“Oh, he did.”

The hobbit stood. “Well, we have nothing cold and sweet in storage, but I think I have an idea.” Of course, he doesn’t tell Fíli what his idea _is_. He simply runs around the kitchen like a madman until he finds what he’s looking for (‘AH-HA! This is perfect!’). It’s a large stone bowl and before Fíli can even question what it’s for, it’s pressed into his arms. “Now go outside and fill the bowl with snow.”

Go…outside. _Snow_?

Oh dear. Months of being under the mountain had broken the hobbit. How were they going to break the news to Uncle…actually Kíli could do that.

(Fíli definitely wasn’t vengeful. Can’t you tell?)

“Stop looking at me like that young man and trust me. By the time you get back I’ll have your bacon and the rest of your treat ready for you to bring to your brother and I give you permission to spend the entire day in bed tomorrow if you wish.” Yes, Bilbo Baggins was definitely broken because there was no way he would ever let any one of the Durins (save for Kíli, for obvious reasons) lay in bed all day unless they were sick.

But against his better judgment, Fíli went out to fill the bowl.

And what a stupid idea that was. If he had thought it was cold before, it was nothing compared to the weather outside.

(The guards told him five minutes, no more, and muttered about nutter princes. Though, which prince they were referring to was undefined.)

Snow still fell. Riding the wind and shooting about faster than Kíli’s arrows. It stung his eyes, stuck to his furs and hair and mustache. The freezing temperatures made his nose run. This was not fun. He almost wanted to turn around. Fuck the snow. If Bilbo needed snow then he could get off his ass and get it.

But the winds _were_ strong. Bilbo might end up getting swept away and that wouldn’t end well for anyone (especially Fíli).

In case you’re wondering, snow is cold. Shocker right? Perhaps it would have been better if Bilbo had given him a spoon of some sort so he wouldn’t have to use his _hands_.

‘ _It’s for Kíli and the babe.’_ He repeated this mantra several times until the bowl had a small mountain of snow in it. Fíli couldn’t have run any faster into the mountain, even if there was a pack of wargs on his heels. And that better not have been laughter from those guards!

True to his word, Bilbo fried a plateful of bacon and placed it on a tray with three pitchers. “Strawberry syrup, raspberry syrup, chocolate syrup.” He said pointing at each individual pitcher. “Pour a little onto a spoonful of snow to taste-the raspberry syrup’s been sitting for a while so I’m not sure how it’s going to taste and the chocolate is a tad runny.” He took the plate from Fíli, put it on the tray, and shoved the tray back into the prince’s arms. “Now, off you go!”

*

Shockingly, Kíli managed to stay awake. He was propped up on their pillows, one hand stroking his swollen belly while the other made wild gestures as he told his story.

“And the first thing Amad to your poor Adad when she saw him was tug him by the ear-and oh Mahal little one, it was hilarious! He had to hop on one leg to keep up!-and out of the room and smacked him upside the head and then gave him a bear hug. Your Adad thought that his back had broken. The baby.”

“See, what your Papa didn’t tell you is that when Amad got to him he begged for mercy and almost wet himself when she stopped yelling at him and hugged.”

“I did no such thing! Don’t listen to your Adad, he’s a liar.”

Fíli snorted. “And I brought you food.” He placed the tray on the bed and snagged a piece of bacon.

“Oh well-is that _snow_? Fíli when I asked for something cold, I didn’t mean snow.”

“It was Bilbo’s idea.”

“Oh no, he’s gone mad!”

“And you’re the one who gets to tell uncle.” If Kíli was going to reply he was stopped when Fíli shoved a spoonful of (chocolate) syrup coated snow into his mouth.

“ _Ohhh_ ” Sweet Mahal! “This is almost as good as sex!”

 _That_ was highly unlikely. Kíli just caught the madness is all because there was no way that snow and sugar was as great as sex. “No it isn’t.”

“Yes it is! Try it!” Like he had a choice. Kíli had a spoonful of chocolate-y syrupy snow for Fíli and a strawberry one for himself. “Open.”

Now, no one (especially Kíli, because it would go to his head) was to know this, but Kíli was right! This treat was delicious! Perhaps Bilbo wasn’t mad after all. (Or maybe he had caught the madness too. He might have to look into that in the morning.)

Before they knew it they had devoured the entire bowl of snow. Neither man was too fond of the raspberry syrup, it was a little sour for their tastes. Kíli adored the chocolate one (he even put it on his bacon, claiming it was what the baby wanted. He would have to ask Amad about her pregnancy cravings in the morning because there was no way that that was normal) while Fíli hogged the strawberry one.

“Are you happy now?” The blond asked. He certainly was, maybe now he could get back to sleep.

Kíli rolled over and grinned. “Oh yes. You’ve outdone yourself Fee. Now how are you going to be able to top it tomorrow night?”

Blue eyes shot open. “No-no-no, tomorrow we sleep. All day. Bilbo said we could.”

“Oh no, he really has gone mad!” Perhaps, but the smartest people are often a bit mad.

Snow and syrup? Staying in bed all day? Brilliant, but mad.  


	14. Genderswapped, Thorin/Bilbo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING this chapter is kind of angsty

He’s so _angry_.

His One, his dear Billa, the woman he had wanted to rule by his side was a _traitor_. That wench gave away his most important treasure! She just gave away the Arkenstone to Bard and _Thranduil_.

 _Justice. Revenge. Make her pay. Make her suffer. That was grandfather’s stone._ Your _stone._

Before he knows it Dwalin drags her to him and forces her to kneel at his feet. She looks him in the eye and said it was to keep him _safe_ …

Something snaps. He’s got her pretty neck- _so thin, so weak, just like her_ -trapped by one hand as he dangles her over the side of the mountain, threatening to throw her off.

 _Do it, she deserves it. She stole your treasure. She lied. She meets with the enemy, with elves. Squeeze a little tighter, that’s it. Now tighter…make it snap. Feel the bones crack and break in your grasp. Snap her neck and throw her away like the garbage she is. Kill her, **kill her**_.

He doesn’t kill her. The king tossed her at Dwalin, telling her she was banished and if he ever saw her treasonous face in his mountain again he would not hesitate to kill her. Not again.

*

There’s fighting. There’s so much _blood_. It’s everywhere, tainting everything in red and black.

He’s already lost the company and his sister-sons. They could be dead. They could be alive. He doesn’t know. All he knows is there are enemies, and he has a sword.

_Kill them all. Protect the mountain. Protect **your** mountain. Protect your gold. _

His vision is filled with honey colored curls and a blue waist coat.

_She stayed. She wears your colors. She must die. Kill her. Kill-_

**ENOUGH**

For the first time in what feels like days-weeks even-he’s clear headed. The hissing voice in his head is finally silent. He can finally _see_.

There are no more curls and waistcoats but he can hear Billa’s unmistakable voice yelling out the arrival of the eagles.

*

Silence.

It’s over.

The Battle, the curse, all over.

There is no peace as he lay in his tent. Billa is missing, neither among the living but neither is she among the dead, Balin told him.

“She has a ring that makes her invisible.” He points out. The dread settles in his stomach like a lead weight. She could be lying out there in the battle field injured or _worse_ , and they wouldn’t know because she wore her ring. It’s all his fault; he should have never let her come on this quest. He should have forced her to stay in the mountain. He should have been _stronger_.

Images plague his mind. Hundreds-thousands-rushing about and not giving him a moment’s peace. Two stick out the most, repeating dozens of times and sometimes appearing together. One is of Billa, bloody and motionless under a pile of corpses, with her face frozen in fear and agony. She is dead because she went to war for him. The other is of Billa lying in a broken, bloody heap at the foot of the mountain. She is dead _because_ of him; because he was weak and fell under the influence of the voice.

Balin enters his tent, smiling brightly, and tells him that he has a visitor. He doesn’t want visitors. He wants news about Billa. Why, why is Balin so happy? He should be out there looking for her!

Billa walks in. She’s bandaged and bruised and absolutely filthy, but she’s _alive_. Thorin makes a pained noise and then she’s by his side, stroking his brow and shushing him and-oh Mahal she’s _real_. What did he do to deserve this?

Nothing.

And then he sees the bruises on her pale neck. Not from battle, but from a hand- _his_ hand. He doesn’t deserve having her near after everything. “Billa, I-”

“-Thorin Oakenshield, if the next words out of your mouth are some self-hating drivel and not an apology then I will walk right out of this tent and ask Gandalf to bring me back to the shire.”

He doesn’t want her to leave. He _needs_ her to stay, needs her to keep the gold sickness at bay. He shouldn’t but he does. So he apologizes. She forgives him.

*

Later they are found curled around each other in sleep. His head is on her belly-warm and soft-and her hands are tangled in his hair. He should have sent her away. He has no right to ask her to stay, not anymore. But he can’t let her go. She has to know how sorry he is.

He will not ask for her forgiveness. He cannot ask something of her that he will not even give himself.

He will not ask, but he knows he has it.

 _That_ is a blow because he knows he doesn’t deserve it. 


	15. In a different clothing style, Dori/OMC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting one more, because I had it half written in my head.
> 
> Warning: Shameless fluff

For decades, Dori and Naran had a limited wardrobe. Dori’s consisted of a handful of knitted and handmade tunics, the coat his mother had made, and (maybe) three pairs of patched trousers. Naran is no better. He has a thick set of furs, four stained and patched shirts, two worn sweaters, and two pairs for trousers. They were old and worn, but they were comfortable, warm and practical.

So imagine Naran’s surprise when he sets his eyes on his husband for the first time in over a year and a half and he’s wearing a finely made outfit that probably cost more than they _both_ made in a year.

Deep red tunic made of silk ( _Silk_! Dori used to moan and sigh wistfully at the thought of owning a tiny bit of silk) and trimmed with gold, long enough to end right above his knees and tied at the waist with a gold sash. Dark pants (Naran couldn’t tell what material they were-Dori probably could-but they did not shine like the tunic) and a new coat of fine fur and leather. His clothes are beautiful and elegant, just like he is. The only familiar things Naran could see on his husband were the leather boots he had made for him several years earlier and the marriage beads in his hair.

Dori had always been a beauty. Now he looked ethereal. Naran could hardly believe that this gem was his husband!

If his steps faltered for a moment, no one noticed.

He sprinted the rest of the way to his One (dwarves are naturally born sprinters after all). Dori ran just as fast.

They connected like thunder, falling because Dori was too strong and set him off-balance. The dark haired (mostly gray at this point) dwarf grinned and ran his hands over Dori’s body as they kissed for the first time in ages.

Honestly, he couldn’t tell you what felt better, kissing his husband or feeling him. Kissing his husband again, or feeling him alive? Feeling the hardened muscles under the soft silk or kissing those still soft lips.

Very hard decision.

When they pull away Dori is straddling his hips and Naran gets an even better view of the new clothes stretching over his skin.

The way Dori whines when he stroked the silk of his hips is the most beautiful thing he’s heard in months.

“Do you like my new outfit then, dearest?”

“Oh, very- _very_ much, my gem.” Of course this is followed by a lewd comment that makes his precious Dori stutter and blush passed his neck.


	16. During their morning rituals, Dwalin/Ori

Every day starts off the same.

It begins at dawn. Though he cannot see the sky pinking for their home under the mountain, the bald guardsman knows that it’s time to wake. Dwalin gets up, stretching until his back and shoulders pop, and gives Ori a sweet kiss on the lips to wake him. He gets pushed away and told to ‘leave m’lone Dwalin. S’too early.’ Dwalin laughs, he doesn’t feel hurt anymore about being pushed away, and hops out of bed.

Next he will go into the kitchen and put a kettle on, making them a small breakfast of cheese, bread, and cold meat. He doesn’t eat his, not until after his pushups. Ori stumbles out of the bedroom and into the kitchen as the kettle boils. Dwalin’s on the ground doing pushups so the scribe has to pour himself a cup (which is a very bad idea because he’s either too tired or too busy staring at the muscles of Dwalin’s back to pay attention to his tea and he’s burned himself on more than one occasion) and he’ll munch on his breakfast while Dwalin finishes up.

When he’s done, Dwalin inhales his breakfast. Neither talks, opting to rather sit in companionable silence.

Finally it’s that time of the morning when Dwalin must leave for work. Ori can sense this, so he slips into the older dwarf’s lap and wraps his arms around his neck, nuzzling his face into that thick beard.

“You should take the day off.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You most certainly can.”

“I took a day off last week.” He did, because Ori wouldn’t let him leave. _Again_.

(He probably would have been worried about Ori’s clinginess had it not been justified. Erebor was still a mess and a danger zone. Six dwarfs had been killed during the cleanup and Ori was just worried that his husband would do something stupid that would get him killed. Which he probably would.)

He has to kiss his young husband several times before he can leave (oh no, the horror!). By then, Ori is a panting mass on the edge of the table, glazed eyes and staring up at the ceiling. He can only nod as Dwalin says goodbye and slips out of the room. By the time he’s composed himself and ready to berate Dwalin, the other dwarf is long gone.  

The next morning, they do this again. 


	17. Spooning, Thorin/Bilbo

There’s something about wearing the ring that makes Bilbo cold. The longer he wears the ring, the colder he gets.

When he finds Thorin’s cell in Mirkwood, the king can immediately tell that there’s something wrong with their burglar.

“Bilbo,” He called in the direction that he thought the hobbit was in. “Are you alright?”

“I-I’m f-fine.” Oh, Bilbo was three feet in the _other_ direction. He knew that.

“You are not. Come here.” He felt the air shift near him, and heard Bilbo’s rear hit the ground. Other than that there was no other way to tell that the hobbit was there. It was too…cold. “Bilbo, there’s no guards around, let me see you.”

The hobbit doesn’t make a sound when he appears. One second he’s not there and the next he is. Thorin doesn’t startle like he used to (even though that never happened) at the appearance, but he does startle at Bilbo’s appearance. He’s pale, shivering, and tinged blue at the lips. The dwarf inhales sharply.

“Bilbo…what happened?”

“I-I don’t k-know.” Before he knows what’s going on, he’s pulled Bilbo against him and lays them down. The blonde’s back is to his front and Thorin curls an arm around him.

Any protests that the hobbit has are weak and half-hearted because Thorin is so _warm_.

“ _Sleep_ Bilbo.”  

And he does because he has Thorin there to chase away the cold.  


	18. Doing something together, Dori/OMC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or where Dori is extremely strong and Naran doesn't believe him.

“I can lift that you know.” Naran made a grunt of acknowledgement, but he did not give the box to Dori. Dori was many things, but there was no way that he was able to lift this crate. It was so damn heavy. No, better let ‘expert’ handle that.

“I got it.”

“Naran…”

“Dori…” He imitated, though he sounded far more stressed.

The shorter dwarf threw his hands up. “Fine! Break your back for all I care.”

*

Ori comes by his house the next morning, arms laden with a basket of bread and bacon and a bottle of chilled tea (Dori may be mad at him, but he always made sure that he was well fed).

“Mornin’ Lad.”

The boy smiled and climbed onto the table. Naran listened to the boy’s happy babbling about his play dates with the princes and baby Gimli, about the toys that No-No (Oh, Nori was _never_ going to live that one down) brought from far away places, and about the many times that Mama kicked Mister Dwalin’s butt at arm wrestling and-

“Wait a momen’. Lad, we’re talkin’ ‘bout yer Mama, right?”

“Yep!”

“An’ he beat Mister Dwalin?” That sounded highly unlikely. Dwalin was built like a mountain and Dori was…Dori.

“Yesh! Dis many!” Ori continually lifted his fingers to show how many times that his Mama had beaten the guardsman. And when he lifted all ten of his tiny fingers he put them down and lifted them again, twice.

Well that was something worth looking into.

*

“Ye know, Ori told me somethin’ real interestin’.” Dori didn’t look up from the tea he was making, but he did quirk an eyebrow.

“Oh? And what might that have been?”

“He said that ye beat Dwalin at arm wrestlin’, thirty times.” Naran watched his lover with dark eyes. He watched the tensing of his shoulders, the strain that the poor cup was going through. So it was true... “Show me.”

“I really don’t think you want to do that.”

“Oh, I really think I do.” To emphasize, he rolled up the sleeve of his tunic and placed his right elbow on the table.

The other dwarf tried to ignore him. He sat on the other side of the table, slowly sipping his tea. Eventually, the constant ‘C’mon Dori, jus’ once!’ got annoying. Dori slammed his cup against the table (maybe a little too hard, a chip went flying off onto the floor) and offered his right hand. “Fine! Here, but don’t complain when you lose.” Naran accepted the challenge.

Challenge was a VERY generous word. In five seconds, Dori had Naran’s hand pinned to the tabletop and looking utterly bored.

“No way…two outta three!” Needless to say, fifteen rounds and one extremely tired arm later, Dori had won fifteen to zero.   


	19. In formal wear, Fíli/Kíli

“I don’t like this.” Kíli mumbles as Fíli puts another braid in his hair. Seriously, he didn’t wear braids for a reason. He didn’t like them; and now Uncle was making him wear _hundreds_!

(Okay, not hundreds, in reality it probably wasn’t even a dozen.)

“I heard you the first fifty times.”

Well, of course he did. Kíli was just reminding him. There were several more complaints from the dark haired dwarf that were ignored. More braids and beads were placed in his hair.

The braid of the line of Durin

His father’s bead

Fíli's bead, woven into an engagement braid…

“Why can’t I just keep these three? Why do I have to have so many?”

Fíli’s hands deftly moved as he finished the last braid (the engagement braid). “You are a prince of Erebor and a hero. You must wear these braids, if only for today. The caravan from the Blue Mountains has finally settled and Uncle’s is _finally_ getting married to Bilbo. We must look our best and Amad would have my hide if you look any less than the prince you are. Here we go…well go on, let’s have a look.”

Kíli stood (grumbling and cursing his brother the whole time), doing a mock twirl with his arms held out. Fíli appreciated the view. The dark blue fabric hugged every curve (oh and I do mean _every_ curve) of his brother’s slim body, accenting the lean muscles (and the delightfully round rear), and the braids…

Oh Mahal…there was no way Fíli was going to make it through the ceremony.

“Well? How do I look?” Kíli gulped at the heated look he was given. It was almost like the blond was planning to eat him- _oh_. He took a step back, Fíli took one step forward. “Fee, no. No! You spent hours trying to get me to look decent!”

“But you look so gorgeous.”  

“No! Amad will kill us if we’re late-” Whoa…when did Kíli become the responsible one?

“I think she’ll understand.”

“I really think she won’t.” Said a third, female voice. The brothers froze. Slowly they turned to see the annoyed, albeit amused, face of their mother. Oh Mahal, they were going to die.

At least Kíli could put the blame on Fíli.

(And for once it would actually be his fault!) 


	20. Dancing, Bofur/Nori

Bofur could not dance. It was not for lack of trying (because Mahal knows that Mother and Bifur tried on many occasions to get him to dance); no it was more for lack of skill. The men had a phrase for it; they said it was having two left feet. Bofur thinks that he has two left feet and another leg with a broken peg at the end.

So instead of dancing, Bofur took up playing music instead.

*

“Please?”

“No.”

“ _Please_?”

“No.”

“Just one dance?”

“No.”

“I said please.”

“Ye can say please as many times as ye want, the answer’s still no.”

“But why?”

Bofur shrugged, picking up his pint and taking a large gulp of ale. “I don’t dance.”

There was only a handful of times in his life when Nori could admit to being trly surprised about not knowing something about someone. He knew _everything_. For him to not know that his _lover_ didn’t dance… “But ye love music!”

“Just because I like to play doesn’t mean tha’ I can dance.”

Neither said anything and for a while, Bofur had hoped that topic had been dropped.

“Let me teach ye.”

Clearly not.

“I’ve had teacher before. Y’know.” The grin he received could be considered nothing less than shit eating.

No, this was not going to be fun.

*

“N-no Bofur, yer foot goes there…” After stomping on his One’s feet more times than he could count, Bofur was more than ready to call it quits. Poor Nori would be walking awkwardly all day tomorrow.

“All righ’, all righ’. Let’s try somethin’ else.” Several careful maneuvers later Bofur’s feet rested atop Nori’s, his arms wrapped around Nori’s neck while his lover’s curled around his waist.

“This isn’t a good idea, ye know.”

“On the contrary, I think it’s a great idea.”

And really, even if they moved slowly and stiffly and Nori swayed a little too much, it was rather nice. 


	21. Cooking/Baking, Thorin/Bilbo

“Thorin, no.”

His husband’s eyes narrowed. “I am the King.”

“That may be,” Bilbo snorted “ _But_ , this is **_my_** kitchen. I make the rules here and I say that you are not allowed to have any batter.” To emphasize his point, the hobbit turned his back to his husband and protectively curled around the mixing bowl in his arms.

As if that could stop the great King Thorin.

Though, that wooden spoon might hurt…a lot. Especially if Bilbo hit his hand using that flicking-wrist motion…

“You let Fíli and Kíli have some.” The dwarf points out.

“I do no such thing! Fíli and Kíli steal from me!” He yelled into the bowl. Bilbo still hadn’t turned around, so Thorin tried a new tactic.

Bilbo heard heavy footsteps walking his way and suddenly it felt as if he was prey and his husband the predator. “Perhaps I could have just a small taste.” Was murmured into his ear. He would have jumped (He definitely would have before the journey) but Thorin ran his fingers along his shoulders in that way that feels so _wonderful_ …

“I will not hesitate to smack you if you don’t-hey!”

“Ow!”

Well, Thorin _had_ been warned. 


	22. In battle, Dwalin/Ori

Ori has never presented himself as the ‘warrior type’. He was too short, too thin, too shy. Wiry muscles in the place of thick, hard ones.

But just because he preferred to use brains over brawn didn’t mean that he didn’t know how to fight.

*

The first time that Dwalin saw Ori fighting was with the trolls. That tiny dwarf had thought that a _slingshot_ was going to defeat a troll. While useful, it was not enough to bring down a troll.

He had extremely good aim though.

Too bad he didn’t have a proper weapon.

*

The next time he sees Ori fight is in the Goblin Town. Instead of the slingshot, Ori wields his war hammer. He isn’t clumsy with it like one might think. Instead he is strong and confident and graceful in a way that Dwalin had never seen before.

It would be arousing if they weren’t fighting for their lives.

*

By the time Dwalin gets his hammer back, they are camping at the base of the Carrock.

“Ah, Mister Dwalin, I believe this is yours…” Ori trails off awkwardly, his arms outstretched and offering the aforementioned hammer.

Dwalin takes one look at the hammer, gives Ori an even longer look, and tells the younger dwarf to keep it.

“But-”

“-Ye need a weapon, an’ it suits you.” The younger dwarf flushed at the action. For Dwalin to gift Ori with one of his own weapons…it wasn’t done unless they were courting. “Are ye…are ye saying no?”

“N-no! I mean yes! No! I mean I’m saying yes!”

Oh Dear, Dori was not going to be happy. But Dori could be as angry as he wanted, so long as Ori kept getting bright smiles and tight embraces from the tall dwarf. 


	23. Arguing, Dori/OMC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naran finds out that Dori is going on the quest.

“When were ye goin’ t’ tell me that ye were leavin’? Were ye even gonna tell me at all?! Or were ye just goin’ t’ leave me a note that says yer walkin’ off t’ yer death?!”

“Dear, of course I was going to tell you-”

“YER LEAVIN’ IN THE MORNIN’!” _Please, Mahal, Eru, **anyone** , someone just stop him from going away. Stop him from going where Naran can’t follow. _

“I know, and I know that I should have said something, but I didn’t know how to tell you and Ori was afraid you wouldn’t let us go and-”

Us

No…no no no no **_NO._**

_Not my boy. Please, not the both of them._

“Yer…yer taking Ori with ye?”

“Actually, he signed before I did.” _That’s not any better. It means Dori’s going to protect Ori. Which means that he’ll be putting our boy’s safety over his. The chance of him dying…_

“No. No, yer staying here with me. Both of ye. And if ye don’t I will follow ye all the way t’ that damned mountain if I have to!”

“Dearest, we can’t. We signed. And you can’t follow, your leg-”

“-DAMN M’LEG! I’LL NOT SIT HERE WHILE M’HUSBAND AND M’BOY ARE LYIN’ DEAD ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD!” If he hadn’t gone hunting, he wouldn’t have been injured and he could join them, protect them. Instead he was stuck in bed, doomed to sit helplessly and wait while his family walks to go meet a dragon.

“Naran, the prince is offering one fourteenth of the treasure, think about it, we can finally live in comfort! We will-”

“-IT’S NOT WORTH IT DORI! No amount of gold will be worth losin’ either one of ye.” The other dwarf opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut off with a ‘please, jus’ get out’. He did. And Naran spent the next three and a half hours listening to his one cry on the other side of the door. He spent those hours listening, and silently weeping so Dori couldn’t hear him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter for today.  
> I know, I'm evil.


	24. Making up afterwards, Dori/OMC

Three and a half hours later, Dori walks into the bedroom and crawls into bed. They start off back-to-back, and on separate sides of the bed. It’s different and cold.

The silence was unbearable. Never before had they been so silent in the bedroom (whether the noise came from talking or other things, there was always noise). Dori was the first to break it. He rolled until his chest was flush against Naran’s back and pressed his nose into the warm spot between his shoulders.

He took a deep breath. “Are you awake?”

“…….aye.”

“I was going to tell you, you know. But there was never the right time and then there was the accident-”

“-Don’t ye dare use that as an excuse. Ye could ‘ave said somethin’ after. It’s been five days.”

“I know and I’m so sorry. I just didn’t know what to say.” It was crap, but he really had no idea how to breech the subject with his husband.

Naran barked out a laugh. It wasn’t his normal deep guffaws filled with so much merriment that it made everyone else join him, the kind that always warmed Dori on the inside. This was a bitter, broken sound and Dori hated himself for being the reason for it. “Ye could have said it at any time: ‘’Lo dear, I’m home. How was yer day? Good? Oh mine was good too oh an’ by the way yer son an’ I are travellin’ ‘cross Middle Earth t’ fight a dragon an’ we might not make it back. What would ye like for dinner?” Whether it was it was the familiar mocking tone (that was used for playful teasing rather than actual mocking) or the fact that he was leaving in a few short hours, Dori let out a soft laugh and pressed a kiss to his husband’s shoulder.

“Yes, you’re right. But had I said that you would have called Óin saying I’ve gone mad.” Naran chuckled and rolled over. To his credit, he only grunted in pain once. Lying face-to-face Naran could see the dried tear tracks on Dori’s face (and if Dori noticed that his beard was still damp, he never said) he reached out and brushed them away.

“Probably. Or I would have tied ye to the bed an’ locked the boy in his room.” They laughed.

“I didn’t want to wait so long to tell you, you have to know that.”

“I know.” He sighed, pulling Dori close and pressing their foreheads together. “Will ye promise me somethin’, my gem?”

“Of course!”

“Promise me that ye won’t always put Ori’s safety ‘fore yer own.”

Frowning, Dori lifted himself to lean on his elbow. “Naran I-”

“- _Please_ , Dori. I know ye signed on t’ keep ‘im safe, but I don’t want ye to jump in front of a sword meant for him. He’s our boy, an’ he’s all grown up. He can take care of himself an’ he’s a fast learner. ‘M not sayin’ I don’t want him safe, ‘cause I do, but I know ye will stupidly throw yerself in front of every little thing that comes his way.”

“I…I’ll do my best, dear.” The conversation stopped. After minutes of tightly holding each other, they drifted into slumber.  

*

The next morning Dori was up before the sun (not unusual). He had a bag packed and leaning against the wall, making the situation all the more real. Naran tried several times to burn a hole through the bag with his gaze, but he didn’t succeed.

The gray haired dwarf carried a tray of porridge and healing tea into the bedroom. Naran propped himself up (‘I don’ need yer help Dori. I have a broken leg, ‘m not an invalid.’) and accepted the meal. Dori sat next to him.

“What time do you have to leave?”

“Soon.” _Too soon._ Leaning his head on his husband’s shoulder, Dori sighed. “I will miss you, love.”

Dori felt a prickly kiss at his brow. “So will I.” They sat like that for a good fifteen minutes before there was a soft knock at the door. “Come in lad.” Ori opened the door enough to peek his head in. He looked nervous. Naran sighed, handing to tray to Dori who placed it on the floor, and lifted the arm that wasn’t wrapped around his husband. The lad grinned, eagerly running to his papa’s side. “Now, ye be good lad. Listen t’yer Mam, _don’t_ listen t’yer brother unless yer in some deep shit. An’ I want t’know every little thing that happens so ye write down everythin’, understand lad?” somewhere during his talk tears started sliding down his cheeks.

Ori smiled sadly. “Yes Papa.”

“Good. That’s my boy.” They stayed in a lump on the bed, mindful of Naran’s injury, until it was time to go (which honestly wasn’t very long). Naran kissed the top of his son’s head, bumped foreheads, and gave him a hug that would have broken the bones of any other dwarf.

“Uncle Heuran and Uncle Glerin will be here before lunch.” Ori said before he slipped out of the room.

Naran and Dori were alone, possibly for the last time. They kissed for what felt like hours, desperately grabbing and holding each other until Dori pulled away. “I love you.”

“I love ye too, my gem. Be safe”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, this was the last Dori/Naran chapter! I'm glad he was well received (I know not many OCs are) and I wanted you guys to know that even though that there's no more Dori/Naran centered chapters, he will still be making an appearance in at least one more chapter


	25. Gazing into each other's eyes, Fíli/Kíli

There’s something interesting about Fíli’s eyes. They aren’t icy blue like Uncle’s, or the silvery blue like Mother’s. They are the color of a sapphire and sparkle like said gem, but they have a warmth that they do not. It fascinates Kíli to no end. He loves how bright Fíli’s eyes are when he laughs, how they darken when Kíli gives him the _look_ , how they turn to ice when he gets angry…it’s enchanting.

Fíli loves Kíli’s eyes because there is no gem in the world to describe them. They are brown flecked with green and gold and gray and a bit of black. It’s like the forest took residence in his eyes, as silly as that sounds. They’re intoxicating.

“Fíli, you’re staring again dear.” Uncle Bilbo tells him quietly at dinner one night. This isn’t the first time it’s happened, nor will it be the last, he knows this. “Staring is rude.”

Fíli rolls his eyes. “Yes Uncle.” He says, tearing his gaze away from his brother and looking at his plate.

Five minutes later, he’s staring again. To his delight, so is Kíli. 


	26. On one of their brithdays, Thorin/Bilbo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today was supposed to have yesterday's wedding fic as well as this one. But that is turning out to be a monster of a chapter and the bane of my existence

Hobbits have this thing, Thorin found out, where they _give_ presents on their birthday. Odd right?

So imagine the surprise of Thorin II Oakenshield, King of Erebor, when he gifted his consort with a garden and hot house the size of his smial in the Shire and was rewarded with a blank look.

“What’s this for?” Bilbo asked, running his fingers along the glass wall of the hot house. It was beautiful, no doubt about that, lined in gold and sticking to the side of the mountain like a gem in a mine. Inside were tools of jewel incrusted gold and dozens of seeds ready to be planted all made (or bought) by the king himself.

“Your birthday of course.” Thorin frowned. It _was_ Bilbo’s, correct? Gandalf had lied, he wouldn’t…right?

“No-no, it is. But why are you _giving_ me a present?”

What did he mean by that? Did he not want a gift? Had Thorin offended his husband? Hobbits were such particular little creatures, maybe they didn’t like such grand gifts? No, that couldn’t be true because Thorin always lavished his husband in expensive gifts. “I do not understand…do you not like it?”

“I do! But…it’s my birthday.”

“Yes…”

“One doesn’t _get_ presents on their birthday…they _give_ them.” The blond frowned, his hand automatically going to his pocket. “Do…do dwarves not do it that way?”

“No, no we do not. We give gifts. I have not offended you, have I?”

 Bilbo frowned at his husband and shook his head. “Not offended just…surprised? Culture shocked?” Relief washed over Thorin. He sighed and pulled the hobbit close to press a soft kiss to his lips.

“Good.”

They stood there in silence until Bilbo slipped a hand in his pocket and pulled out something small. “In the Shire,” he started “It is customary to give your closet family their gifts first on your birthday, and since you are my husband you get your gift first. I…ummm…I hope you like it.” He pulled a small, heart shaped golden box from his pocket and placed it into his husband’s hand.

Thorin eyed it wearily. “Thank you? It’s…lovely.” The workmanship left much to be desired, but it was the thought that counted right?

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “No you dolt, open it.” Skeptically, Thorin opened the box.

Inside was a folded piece of paper. He took it out.

**_My love,_ **

**_I owe you one present. Unfortunately, he or she will not be there for another five months._ **

It took a moment for the message to set. When it did, the King’s breath caught and he looked at his Consort with wide eyes.

“Are you…?”

Bilbo nodded. “Do you like your present?” Thorin crushed their lips together. Thick arms wrapped around the hobbit’s waist and lifted him off of the ground and in a circle.

When they pulled apart, Thorin was grinning like a loon. “I love it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say good-bye to Thorin/Bilbo now guys.


	27. On their Wedding day, Dwalin/Ori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is!   
> Sorry for the wait, I did a lot of research about Medieval weddings for this.   
> Fun Fact: this chapter was 3,374 words and 8 pages. Making it the longest chapter so far.

To most dwarves, their courtship is rushed, being just under a year; whereas the ‘usual’ courtship lasts for at least two.

Truth is, they _extended_ their courtship. Just four months in they were ready to wed. The whole reason they waited so long was because Ori was waiting for his father and Uncles to arrive from the Blue Mountains.

“I’ll not get married without him here. It’s bad enough that we’re courting without his approval, but I’ll never hear the end of it if we marry while he’s not here.” And that was the end of that.

(Dwalin really wouldn’t have gotten married without the rest of his family here anyway. He would never hear the end of it.)

…Until the caravan from the Blue Mountains arrived.

_“Dear, I already gave him my approval.”_

_“No, he didn’t ask me I don’ trust him.”_

_“He’s already proven himself to both Nori and I, there is no one whom I would rather have Ori marry.”_

_“I’d rather he didn’t”_

_“Was it not you who said Ori is an adult and able to make his own decisions?”_

_“…No.”_

_“_ Please _Papa? I love him and he loves me.”_

It was three months of the same conversation before Naran gave them the okay (not that they really needed it, but Ori _wanted_ his father’s approval).

So here they were, about a month shy of the anniversary of the retaking of Erebor, getting ready for their wedding.

*

“What if he realizes I’m too old? Too violent, too-”

“-Peace, Brother. If he thought you were too old or violent or anything he wouldn’t be marrying you. Nor would his brothers have given their blessings.” Balin was right, as usual. Bastard. But that didn’t stop the nerves from making Dwalin have doubts.

“What if he doesn’t wish to marry me?” He asked in a soft voice. Too soft. Balin sighed, forcing his younger brother into a chair so they were eye to eye.

“Don’t be a fool. Anyone with a pair o’ eyes can see how smitten he is with you. There is no one else for him laddie. Are you having second thoughts?”

“Never!”

His brother smiled behind his white beard. “Then you have nothing to worry about.”

*

Similarly, in his parents’ rooms, Ori was fretting.

“He’s going to change his mind, I know it.” He said as he wrung the sleeves of his shirt.

“If he does, I’ll skin him for ye.” Naran said as he finished Ori’s new pair of leather boots (it was the only thing that he was allowed to help with, Dori’s rule).

“N-No!”

“Ye sure?”

“Dear, behave. Dwalin isn’t going to change his mind. And you are in no position to talk. I seem to remember a very interesting conversation with Heuran about our wedding day-”

Ori listened to his parents bicker with a fond smile. He hoped that one day he and Dwalin would act like this…that is, so long as he didn’t back out. Oh dear that would be terrible. Ori would probably lock himself in his room for at least a decade…or maybe travel off by himself to Moria. He-

“Ori dear, enough of that.” His mother-figure tugged on one of his braids, pulling him out of his thoughts. “You must finish getting ready, my love. It’s almost time.”

_It’s almost time…_

In a few short hours, he would be wed to Dwalin, son of Fudin, Head of the Royal Guard and Hero of Erebor. Well…that was a little nerve wracking….

“I’ve brought the oils and the wedding garb!” Nori announced, walking into the room and dumping the items in his arms onto the bed. Bofur walked in and tugged on the lone braid on the back of the thief’s head.

“Ye could have broken them, genius. Then guess who would be going back to get more.”

He felt his parents and his brothers strip him of his night clothes and wash his body and hair with the special oil and redress him…

‘ _This must be what dolls feel like.’_ He thought.

*

Cleaned and dressed (‘I can do it m’self Balin. No don’t ye dare try to help me. Go sit in the corner.’) in his silks and furs, Dwalin stood outside the door to the Throne Room (the room that was usually held to perform wedding ceremonies was still under construction, and this wasn’t the first wedding to be held in the throne room and nor would it be the last). His beard was adorned with several braids and beads with a blue silk ribbon woven into the braid holding his engagement bead-as was tradition.

His kin (except for Thorin, Bilbo, Dís, and the boys who wore the traditional deep blue and silver of the Royal family) was dressed similarly to himself in varied shades of red silks and heavy furs (or dresses in the cases of the women) and waited on the right side of the door, as was tradition. Bifur, Bofur and Bombur were dressed in bright green silk-Bofur wore a tunic with a green and purple pattern-, but were standing on the left side of the door (because of Bofur’s relationship with Nori). There were two more dwarves on the left side, both were wearing purple. One had hair that looked like it had been a brownish blonde at one point, but was now mostly gray and tightly braided in the back. His eyes were brown, and his beard loose and bushy (Glerin). The other was less gray, his hair still a deep shade of brown, with dark eyes and a nose that was large and round. His hair and beard were tightly braided (after working in the mines for so long, it had become habitual), the beard starting off as three braids and ending in one (Heuran).

Glóin and Óin and Daena (Glóin’s wife) all fussed over young Gimli who held the recently made wedding beads in a golden box (it was his job to give the beads to the Princess at the beginning of the ceremony).

“Lookit him! That’s my boy!” Glóin boasted for the tenth time. Remarkably, Dwalin didn’t curse at him for not shutting up about his son. He was too nervous to care. He kept biting at the inside of his cheek to stop himself from going on another ‘what Ori doesn’t want me anymore?’ rant.

Dís, bless her heart, noticed this and made her way to his side.

“You know, I never thought that I would see the day when the Great Dwalin, son of Fudin would get the pre-wedding jitters.”

Dwalin’s eyes narrowed. “I do not have the jitters, woman.”

“Right.” The dark haired princess rolled her eyes. “Because you-of all people-just love to listen to Glóin talk about his son.”

His reply was cut off by footsteps coming down the hall.

Nori was the first to be seen. He was dressed like everyone else in bright silks and furs. The difference was the color of his silks was purple. His hair was perfect, a braided and full of silver beads and clasps. In his hands he held an intricately engraved chalice of Mithril decorated with several rubies and emeralds and a node of jade lined with gold at its top and bottom. It was beautiful, used only for the line of Durin and their kin (though why it was entrusted to Nori will forever be a mystery). He bowed and gave the group a saucy wink and moved to stand on the left side of the door.

Behind him were his elder brother and his husband. They stood side-by-side to obscure the view of the dwarf behind them. Like his brother, Dori wore purple, but he was decorated in finer patterned silk and more silver than his younger brother. Naran was a surprise. His beard and hair had been washed and styled and looked so tame (clearly the result of Dori’s hard work) decorated with beads of gold and silver. He wore more furs than silk, but the purple fabric could still be easily seen. They bowed, and stepped apart so Ori could walk between them.

Ori was hidden under a bright blue cloak and hood and would remain hidden until they walked into the Throne room. The cloak and hood represented a bridal veil-the cloak and hood meant for both genders with the color blue representing purity-, and while Ori was not exactly a bride, Dwalin’s familial status was far higher than his own. If their statuses were closer together (like Dori and Naran) they could have chosen to have both dwarfs wear the hood, or neither. But Ori was marrying up and tradition states that the lower class partner wears the hood. He stepped forward to take Dwalin’s hand and stood to the left of the door.

Thorin stood up and walked between the couple and the door. He cleared his throat. “Welcome Kith and Kin, on this joyous day. Before we proceed, I must ask: Is there anyone who thinks these two should not wed?” Silence. “Wonderful. We are here today to join these two dwarves in body and soul and law. Dwalin, Son of Fudin, you have come here to recognize Ori, son of Klari, as your One in front of your family, friends, and the Maker himself.”

“I have.”

“And you, Balin, Son of Fudin, have come here as head of your family to witness?”

“Aye, laddie.”

“Now you, Ori, Son of Klari, you have come here to recognize Dwalin, Son of Fudin, as your One in front of your family, friends, and the Maker himself.”

Ori nodded. “I have.”

“And you, Dori, Son of Klari, have come here as head of your family to witness?”

“Yes, I have.”

Finally: “Then we may proceed into the Throne Room.” The King turned around and opened the doors. The King, followed by the rest of the Royal family, was the first to walk in. They walked up to their thrones, but did not sit. Dís pulled out an ancient looking bottle and placed it at the altar that had been placed at the bottom of the steps directly in front of the King’s throne. Thorin stood behind the altar.

The next to walk into the room was Dwalin and Ori. They stopped mere feet away from the altar and bowed. After them was Dori and Balin. Each bowed to the King and then stepped to their brothers’ side. Next was Nori and Naran and Bofur (the rest of Ori’s immediate family). They bowed and stepped behind Dori.

The rest of the group filtered in, bowed to the king, and stepped to their designated sides.

“Now we may continue. May I have the chalice and the beads please?” Nori and Gimli stepped up and offered the items to the Princess. She took them and placed them in front of her brother. “Dwalin, my best and oldest friend, it fills me with the greatest pleasure to be able to officiate your wedding. My dear Ori, I thank you for breaking through his defenses and into his heart. I have never seen him as happy as he is with you, just as I have never seen you as happy as you are with him. Thank you for being the one who took action.” There are several chuckles throughout the room. “Enough joking. Dwalin, remove the hood of your intended.”

Slowly, Dwalin untied the string and the hood and cloak slipped to the floor.

No gem or metal could ever be as beautiful as Ori looked. He was flushed, with shining red-brown hair on his head and chin and several beads catching the light and making him glitter more than a jewel. He was wearing a purple tunic that clung to each muscle and curve of his fiancé’s body, with gray fur draped over his shoulder and covering his back. At his waist was a thick belt of silver. His brown eyes were wide and quickly filled with tears as a grin stretched across his face.

“Ye look lovely” Dwalin whispered.

“Thank you. As do you.”

“It is time for the two of you to undo your engagement braids.” Dwalin undid Ori’s, and placed the bead into the Princess’s waiting hand. The scribe reached up, almost on his toes, and undid Dwalin’s braid, placing the ribbon and the bead into Dís’s hand. She placed these items in the golden box. “Dwalin, touch your right palm to his left, and your left to his right.” He did so. From the box, Thorin removed a long, thin golden chain. He knotted it around the hands farthest from him where the hand meets the wrist, and then made seven coils above the thumb but below the fingers. He pulled the chain to the other two hands and started with the seven coils and ended with the knot. “These knots symbolize our creation by the Maker, these coils, the Seven Fathers of Dwarves. This chain is your journey from your creation to your final resting place in the halls of our Fathers. By biding your hands you are linking your paths into one, and you will not be able to enter the halls of our Fathers without the other.” Thorin paused to take a breath. “Now for the vows. Dwalin, you stand here today to bind yourself to your One under the eyes of the Maker. Do you promise to love him, protect him, and care for him?”

“I do.”

“Do you swear to the Maker that Ori is you One and Only, your _äzyungel_ , your _barut_ , your _uzayang_ and _ughvashä_?”

“I do.”

“And you, Balin, Son of Fudin, elder brother to Dwalin and head of your household, bear witness on behalf of your brother. You have heard your brother’s vows and are prepared to take necessary action should he stray from these vows, correct?”

“I am.”

“The box, sister.” He took out a golden bead that was almost the size of his thumb. There were etching but no large gems. If one got close enough, they could see dozens of tiny jewels in orange and green and purple and red. “This is the bead that will show the world he has bonded, take it, and when the time comes, give it to his husband so he may braid it into his hair.”  He placed the bead into Balin’s palm and turned to Ori. “Ori, you stand here today to bind yourself to your One under the eyes of the Maker. Do you promise to love him, protect him, and care for him?”

The young dwarf let out a choked ‘I do’, making several people smile at him.

“Do you swear to the Maker that Ori is you One and Only, your _äzyungel_ , your _barut_ , your _uzayang_ and _ughvashä_?”

“I do.”

“And you, Dori, Son of Klari, eldest brother to Ori and head of your household, bear witness on behalf of your brother. You have heard your brother’s vows and are prepared to take necessary action should he stray from these vows, correct?”

“I am.”

Thorin reached into the box and pulled out a bead almost identical to the one he pulled out before. This one was slightly larger. “This is the bead that will show the world he has bonded, take it, and when the time comes, give it to his husband so he may braid it into his hair.”  With that, he placed the bead into Dori’s hand.

He took the old bottle and opened it, pouring a small amount into the chalice. “From now on your troubles are _both_ of your troubles. You must work together to overcome them. Now, you must work together to drink from the chalice. Do not spill it; do not take control over the other. This must be done equally and in harmony.”

Miraculously, with only a small amount of struggle, they managed to get the chalice to each of their lips long enough for them to take a small sip. Thorin took the cup with a fond smile. “Wonderful, my friends.” He slowly undid the chain and placed it on the altar. “And now Dwalin, I want you to grasp the hair that used to be Ori’s engagement braid-good. Dori, give him the bead. Thank you. Dwalin, as you braid this bead into his hair, I want you to repeat after me…I Dwalin, Son of Fudin…”

“I Dwalin, Son of Fudin…”

“Do hereby swear by the Maker himself…”

“Do hereby swear by the Maker himself…”

“To take this dwarf, Ori, Son of Klari, as my husband…”

“To take this dwarf, Ori, Son of Klari, as my husband…”

“As my One and Only for the rest of time.”

“As my One and Only for the rest of time.”

“And should I stray, or cause my One harm in any way, I accept the price of my actions.”

“And should I stray, or cause my One harm in any way, I accept the price of my actions.” The bald dwarf tied off the braid, flashing his almost-husband a grin. Ori returned it with a watery-but happy-smile.

“Very good. And now it is your turn Ori. I want you to grab the hair that was once Dwalin’s engagement braid…that’s it. Balin, the bead.” The older dwarf handed off the bead with a ‘here you go, laddie’. “Ori, as you braid this bead into his hair, I want you to repeat after me…I Ori, Son of Klari…”

“I Ori, Son of Klari…”

“Do hereby swear by the Maker himself…”

“Do hereby swear by the Maker himself…”

“To take this dwarf, Dwalin, Son of Fudin, as my husband…”

“To take this dwarf, Dwalin, Son of Fudin, as my husband…”

“As my One and Only for the rest of time.”

“As my One and Only for the rest of time.”

“And should I stray, or cause my One harm in any way, I accept the price of my actions.”

“And should I stray, or cause my One harm in any way, I accept the price of my actions.”

The King outstretched his arms. “Then it is done, congratulations my friends. You can now-” Before the words left Thorin’s lips, Ori grabbed at his husband’s (his _husband_! That was never going to get old) shoulders and pulled him into a deep kiss. Thorin grumbled about being interrupted, but everyone could see that he was more amused than angry. They pulled apart with an annoying loud noise that made several people cringe. Thorin walked up to them and clapped his hands on their backs. “May I present, the newly bonded Dwalin and Ori of the house of Fudin!” Cheers rang. It was deafening and joyful and oh so perfect!

Bain and Dori walked up to them and embraced the couple, offering their congratulations and welcomes to the family. They were followed by the rest of the group. After the fifth blessing and ‘congratulations’ Ori stopped paying attention. Dwalin took all of the offerings with a grin, his arm never straying from its place around Ori.

Bombur announced that they had a wedding feast waiting in the king’s private dining room, and can we please hurry it up? I want the happy couple to taste the cakes Bilbo and I made before they lock themselves away for a week-thank you!

“Adad, why are they locking themselves away for a whole week? Does it take Uncle Dwalin that long to-” Fíli and Kíli’s faces contorted into something akin to sucking on a lemon and incredibly amused. Poor Glóin had no idea what to say to that, but luckily his wife was there to stop their son.

“Gimli!”

The red-haired child (not a child, he was almost an adult. Don’t listen to his parents) flinched. “What? Fíli and Kíli said-”

“We’ll meet you in the dining room!” The princes ran off before anyone could say otherwise. Several people rolled their eyes.

Ori smirked. “Do you think I should tell them about-”

“Trust me, Ori, the last thing I want them to know is what we do in the bedroom.”

“And sometimes the rest of the house.” His parents choked. Dori out of embarrassment and Naran out of glee.

“ORI!”

To this day, Ori swears Nori say something like: ‘That’s my brother! I’m so proud.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus ends the Dwori chapters. I hope it was worth the wait. :)
> 
> For those of you who wanted to see more Naran, I made a series called Dori and his Barman which will be little snippets of their lives. 
> 
> And for anyone who was curious, most of these traditions were used back in Medieval times (according to the internet). White wasn't the color of purity at weddings, it was blue. And the family of the bride and groom would wear similar clothing to confuse evil spirits. Most weddings were held outside of chapels, but some (for the nobles) started outside and then moved inside after asking about objections.


	28. Doing something ridiculous, Bofur/Nori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nori wants Bofur to stahp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a dialogue only chapter.

“Bofur stop.”

…

“Bofur stop it, that’s creepy.”

…

“ _Bofur_ , those aren’t supposed to move like that!”

…

“Bofur! How the hell did ye manage to get them t’ move? Ye-Oh Mahal they’re _flapping_! Bofur they’re going to fly right off of ye!”

“Don’t deny it, ye secretly love it.”

“I do not! Ye look ridiculous!”

“I bet ye think I look adorable.”

“Trust me, I really don’t.”

“Yer jus’ jealous.”

“Oh yes. I’m terribly jealous. How can ye move them anyway?”

“Ha! I saw that! Yer trying to make ‘em move! And t’answer yer question, I practiced.”

“ _Why_?!”

“I dunno…I was bored.”

“Ye were bored, so ye practiced moving your _ears_?”

“Yes! Ye pickpocket, I wiggle my ears. At least my hobby’s legal. ‘Sides. The kids like it.”

…

“Will you stop moving them?!”

“HA! Ye tried it! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone could (or would) wiggle their ears, it would be Bofur. Don't deny it.


	29. Doing something sweet, Bofur/Nori

For years after its retaking, Erebor is in a constant flurry of motion. There is never a moment’s peace for when the sun is up, Bofur is leading excavation groups around the mountain (soon they will start helping in the mines), and when the sun goes down Nori slinks through the shadows: waiting, watching, listening for anything or anyone that poses a threat. They are always moving, and when they are not they are eating and bathing and then too tired to do anything but sleep.

Very rarely do they get time to themselves. Time to just sit together. There is always something or someone there to keep them busy.

Yet every once in a while there is a day where Bifur can handle the crews and the smarter mutinous morons have been taken care of (or Nori’s group of not-minions can easily take care of them), where they can just be together…

Their rooms have a terrace to the outside. It has a beautiful view and maybe once it itself had been beautiful, but it’s not much more than rubble and support at the moment. The door to the terrace-their only natural light source-usually remains closed because of this. But dwarves have an impeccable sense of time you know, even deep in the mountain where it has never seen the light of day. That’s why Nori knows it’s shortly past seven when he gets home. It’s actually a bit earlier than his usual time, which is a blessing. What is weird, though, is the silence and the uneaten plates of food on the table.

‘ _Where has that toymaker gotten off to?_ ’

He got his answer when he opened the door to the bedroom.

Usually, Bofur gets up, dresses, eats and leaves twenty minutes after Nori returns home (and boy does that hurt, only spending twenty minutes with his husband in the morning where they barely have a full conversation and share only a handful of kisses). Today was not like most days. Instead of Bofur bustling about looking for who knows what-‘Nori, where’s m’mattock?’ ‘Nori have ye seen my leather gloves-oh thank you!’-he’s curled up on the bed and snoring lightly.

‘ _Mahal he’s lovely._ ’ Rather than being braided and hidden away under his hat, his hair was free, hiding half of his face and curling over his shoulders in thick curls. Lips were parted, gently blowing his moustache every exhale. He had one arm under his pillow and the other clutching Nori’s to his chest.

Silently, the thief walked to the side of the bed, taking a seat behind Bofur’s back. He could feel the body heat of his husband through his trousers. Fingers ran through the dark hair, pulling it to full length and letting it fall free. It was finer than all the silks in Erebor (no he was _not_ biased, thank you very much). Softer than the softest fur.

This…this was something that Nori never thought he would-or could have. He was a thief. A convicted criminal (even if he had been pardoned). He never thought having someone as wonderful and gorgeous as Bofur was possible for him. He didn’t deserve him. But Nori was a thief, a thief who wasn’t ever going to let this treasure go.

With that determination in mind, he bent and pressed a kiss behind Bofur’s ear. Then his temple. Then his cheek. And finally his lips.

“Bofur, wake up.” Their lips brushed together as Nori whispered.

“Hmm? Oh…‘lo love…when’d ye get home?” Bofur asked in a sleepy voice (Soft and husky in a way that sent shivers down the thief’s spine.) and kissed Nori again. When he went to sit up, he was pushed down.

“I got in a few minutes ago. Bifur threaten ye t’take a day off?”

Bofur nodded. “Oh, Bom’s brought us breakfast.” Of course he did.

“Yes, I saw. We should probably heat it soon, before it gets too cold…” But even as he said this, Nori moved to lie down. He was rewarded with a smile.

“Yeah we prob’ly should.” Neither bothered to get up.

Ten minutes later, they were still in bed. Bofur had nudged his head under Nori’s chin, practically purring at the fingers dragging up his back and back down again. Someone-neither could remember actually doing this-pulled a blanket over them and up to their shoulders.

“Do ye have to go to work later?” Bofur asked, pulling away from Nori and looking up at him with almost-sad eyes.

“Not until tomorrow night. So until then, I am at yer mercy.”

Bofur liked the sound of that.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go!


	30. Doing something hot, Fíli/Kíli

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kíli likes to provide a distraction when Fíli's duties become too much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY  
> I thought this had been posted weeks ago!

Being the heir, Fíli gets frustrated a lot (‘Comes with the job.’ He’ll say). Kíli likes to help relieve that frustration by dragging off his elder brother and distracting him for several hours on end (sometimes it’s more, sometimes it’s less).

Sometimes the distractions are quick little trysts in broom cupboards where Fíli is thrusting and kissing him with all of the grace of a hormone laden teenager.  Most of the time Kíli manages to get them to the bedroom with a few burning touches and they will spend hours exploring each other’s bodies.

Kíli get creative when he’s trying to distract his brother. From tying a silk ribbon around the base of Fíli’s cock to spending hours in the forge to create certain toys (there’s this one rod-like one with several ridges, Kíli likes to stretch his brother beyond capacity by pushing the rod into the tight heat alongside Kíli’s dick), to bringing food into the equation, to occasionally dressing up in certain…garments (no one but Fíli was allowed to know about those times…Kíli didn’t like talking about it).

What Kíli loved doing most was riling his brother and making him cum with nothing but feather light touches and ghosting breath over gooseflesh. He enjoys watching Fíli writhe beneath him as his stubble-BEARD- brushes against a sensitive nipple. And the noises Fíli makes! There is no sweeter sound! He will beg and plead and nearly scream at Kíli to touch him damn it!

And in the end, when Fíli is blissed out and panting he no longer feels like strangling any of the nobles or screaming until his face is purple. Kíli will stroke his sweat dampened arms and mentally applaud himself for a job well done. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for everyone who read, commented and left kudos! And thanks for dealing with my shitty update schedules


End file.
